1 


<  c<     <, 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 
LOS  ANGELES 


A    MODERN    ANT^US 


A   MODERN    ANTiEUS 


BY   THE    AUTHOR    OF 
"AN    ENGLISHWOMAN'S    LOVE    LETTERS" 


NEW    YORK 
DOUBLEDAY,    PAGE    &    CO. 

1 90 1 


Copyright,  1901,  by 
DOUBLEDAY,  PAGE  &  COMPANY. 

October,  1901. 


Nortoooti  $reBB 

J.  S.  Cusliing  &  Co.  -  Berwick  &  Smith 

Norwood  Mass.  U.S.A. 


CONTENTS 


CHAP. 

I.  THE  NURSING  OF  ANTAEUS 

II.  GERMINAL  . 

III.  SHOWS    THAT    OUT    OF    A    MARE'S    NEST     MAY    SPRING 

NIGHTMARE 

IV.  FOLLY    LEADS   TO    WISDOM 

V.  REAL   CHARACTERS   AND    FICTITIOUS   PERSONS 

VI.  TRISTRAM'S    HEART    HAS    ITS   GROWING    PAINS 

VII.  ARBOREAL  CHILDHOOD  ..... 

VIII.  MYTH,    RITUAL,   AND   RELIGION      .... 

IX.  THE   ROD    THAT    BUDDED 

X.  THE   AFFLICTION    OF   MORALS  .... 

XI.  IN    WHICH    A    GENTLE    CHARACTER    DISAPPEARS    FROM 

THE   STORY         

XII.  SCHOOL-DAYS   AND    HOLIDAYS         .... 

XIII.  A    CHAPTER   OF    PURSUITS      ..... 

XIV.  THE   WATER-FINDER 

XV.  THE   FIFTH    OF    NOVEMBER 

XVI.  A    CHAPTER    OF    CONTRASTS  .... 

XVII.  APOLOGIES   TO    LADY    PETWYN        .... 

XVIII.  LADY    PETWVN'S   PAST 

XIX.  A   FALL    RASHLY    REPENTED  .... 

XX.  BOOTS   LEAD   A    DANCE   AT   HILL   ALWYN 

XXI.  BEMBRIDGE   FAIR 


PAGE 
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18 

27 

39 
50 
64 
72 
89 

99 

115 
122 
140 
158 

175 
189 
203 
217 

228 


240 
250 


VI 


CONTENTS 


CHAP. 

XXII.  A    CONFLICT   OF   THE   ELEMENTS 

XXIII.  A  CHAPTER   OF   MISUNDERSTANDINGS 

XXIV.  PLANS   AND    SECTIONS 
XXV.  BUSINESS    HEADS   AND    LOGGERHEADS 

XXVI.  LIZZIE   LOSES    HER    REPUTATION 

XXVII.  PRELIMINARY    TO    A    STORM 

XXVIII.  A    BATTLE   OF    MORALS      . 

XXIX.  VIRTUE    IN    A    SWELLED    HEAD 

XXX.  TRISTRAM    ENCOUNTERS   OBSTACLES 

XXXI.  TRISTRAM    EXTENDS    PROTECTION   TO   AN    ENEMY 

XXXII.  LOVE   AND    WAR  .... 

XXXIII.  FORTUNE   SHOWS   A    BLACK    FACE 

XXXIV.  SHOWS   THAT   THERE   IS   SOMETHING    IN   A    NAME 
XXXV.  LETTERS   AND   A   VISIT 

XXXVI.     ANTAEUS   IN   TOWN   .... 
XXXVII.     TRISTRAM    AND    HIS   TRAINER   . 
XXXVIII.     A   CHANGE   OF   ADDRESS   . 
XXXIX.    WHAT   MIGHT    HAVE   BEEN   EXPECTED 
XL.     THE   WOMAN   ON   THE   ROAD       . 
XLI.     A    LETTER    FROM    A    DEAD    HAND 
XLII.     LADY    PETWYN'S    EXPERIMENT  . 
XI. III.     ANTAEUS   DROPS   TO   EARTH       . 
XLIV.    THE   TENDER    MERCIES   OF    THE    RIGHTEOUS       . 
XLV.     THE   HOUSE   OF   MY    FRIENDS      . 

XLVI.     IN     WHICH     THE     READER     WILL     DRAW     HIS     CON 
CLUSIONS      ...  • 


514 


A   MODERN    ANTAEUS 


~°>Kc 


T 


CHAPTER  I 

THE  NURSING  OF  ANTAEUS 

HE  Antaeus  of  Greek  myth  wins  his  fame  before 
men's  eyes  only  at  the  decisive  moment  when  the 
gift  of  his  birthright  fails  him.  The  contest  which  by 
fresh  sips  of  strength  he  maintains  against  one  stronger 
than  himself,  comes  suddenly  to  an  end,  when  Hercules, 
clipping  him  from  his  mother's  embrace,  has  crushed  and 
flung  him  back  to  earth  like  a  squeezed  orange.  It  is  as 
though  we  only  came  on  Achilles  in  overthrow,  when  the 
arrow  of  the  Trojan  pierces  his  heel ;  or  on  Meleager  at 
the  moment  when  his  mother  restores  his  fate  to  the 
flames;  and  the  modern  mind  feels  a  longing  to  know 
more  of  a  legend  lovelier  in  itself  than  that  of  the  arbi- 
trary protection  given  by  the  gods  to  their  chosen  among 
mortals.  For  about  the  life  of  Antaeus  there  was  a  nat- 
ural rather  than  a  miraculous  charm :  he  had  but  in  ex- 
cess the  gift  which  lies,  remote  or  near,  in  us  all. 

What,  one  wonders,  must  his  childhood  and  growth 
have  been  like,  from  the  moment  when  he  emerged 
earthy  out  of  some  cleft  of  rocks  which  had  once  given 
lap  to  Oceanus  on  a  day  of  spring-tides,  and  crawling  to 
his  first  wash  in  the  bay,  had  there  lain  rocked  by  the 


2  A    MODERN    AXTAEUS 

cradling  shallows,  a  confident  suckling ;  till  the  day  when, 
as  the  plough  turns  the  clod  back  into  the  furrow,  Her- 
cules, the  pioneer  of  the  gods  of  the  uncouth  ways  of 
earth,  turned  him  back  to  the  place  whence  he  had  come. 
One  sees  him  a  valiant  crawler  from  his  birth,  toppling  to 
his  feet  early  in  the  first  moon  of  his  existence;  presently 
a  runner  and  a  jumper,  rebellious  against  leading-strings, 
yet  always  back  again,  rolling  a  tough  hide  in  mould  and 
flowers,  and  grass  which  for  him  soon  ceases  to  have 
rough  edges  at  all.  One  fancies  him  later  testing  his 
strength  by  the  roots  and  small  saplings  which  he  man- 
ages to  tug  up  out  of  Mother  Earth ;  and  Earth  herself, 
like  the  pelican  in  piety,  giving  her  torn  breast  gladly  that 
out  of  it  her  youngling  may  fetch  strength.  Out  of  a 
headlong  day  one  sees  him  plunging  back  into  profound 
rest  and  sleep  that  is  without  a  break  —  so  earth-bound  in 
repose  that  a  beauty  half-womanly  takes  possession  of 
his  relaxed  limbs ;  and  the  nymphs  whom  he  has  harried 
to  their  crannies  during  the  day,  peep  out  at  him,  and  are 
no  longer  afraid.  He  awakes  flushed  with  that  familiar 
strength  which  comes  to  him,  he  knows  not  whence,  and 
with  brain  all  abroad  for  the  far  ends  of  a  new  day  now 
begun  ;  sees,  perhaps,  up  on  a  sunned  hillside  what  in  the 
distance  are  like  faint  streaks  of  snow  lying  —  knows 
them  for  nymphs  basking  in  the  security  of  the  open,  and 
is  up  and  on  the  run,  his  freakish  boy's  blood  already  at 
caper  within  him  for  the  manhood  that  is  yet  to  be ;  and 
so,  stretches  his  legs  in  the  wake  of  those  ever  wary  ones, 
and  brings  his  morning  appetite  to  the  den  of  an  old 
satyr,  who  talks  racy  wisdom  while  crunching  acorns  and 
cob-nuts  with  the  few  teeth  left  to  him.  One  imagines 
him  from  fight  or  play  with  bruises  and  wounds,  which 
disdainfully  he  ignores,  curling  down  in  his  lair  to  awake 
healed  at  the  next  dawn.  A  careless  conscienceless  rogue 
he  grows,  much  of  a  vagabond  and  a  little  of  a  marauder; 


THE     NURSING     OF    ANTAEUS  3 

till,  perhaps,  some  day  he  sees  visible  suffering  in  his 
mother's  face,  and  finds  that  she  who  is  so  lavish  has  also 
her  hours  of  affliction  and  penury,  which  with  a  rough 
frightened  tenderness  he  tries  to  comfort.  Also  he  him- 
self has  fears  which  he  cannot  master :  yet  it  is  not  out  of 
these  that  his  fate  springs  at  last ;  nor  is  it  with  fear  at  all 
that  he  goes  finally  to  meet  his  doom. 

So,  perhaps,  might  one  try  to  fill  up  the  lacking  detail 
of  the  old  legend,  only  to  see  at  last  how  modern  it  was 
under  its  mask  of  classic  form,  and  to  realise  that  it  might 
scarcely  have  interested  a  Greek  mind. 

It  is  a  freak  of  modern  thought  thus  to  throw  back  into 
the  past  for  things  that  belong  as  much  or  more  to  our 
own  day :  to  invent  a  new  myth  in  order  that  we  may 
look  with  wistful  self-indulgent  regard  at  what,  lying 
close  against  our  own  door,  we  have  failed  to  recognise. 
And,  indeed,  Antaeus  to-day  is  to  be  known  by  far  differ- 
ent signs  from  those  which  marked  him  in  the  fallow  days 
of  his  early  legend.  Nature  herself  moves  among  us  in 
reduced  circumstances ;  she  is  thankful  to  sit  in  compara- 
tive peace  and  self-possession  between  the  four  hedges  of 
a  square  field,  and  attend  in  a  sort  of  domestic  drudgery 
to  the  crops  which  man  puts  there  into  her  keeping.  And 
if  it  is  her  good  chance  to  have  the  care  of  grown  grass, 
which  the  haymakers  will  take  from  her  when  the  days 
are  long,  among  all  the  lovers  and  children  who  come  to 
tumble  there,  few  are  of  the  Antaeus  breed,  or  mean  by 
their  coming  more  than  the  ox  when  he  comes  to  his 
straw,  or  than  Midas  when  well-feasted  and  drunk,  he 
sinks  into  his  bed  of  down.  To  very  few  does  she  give 
now  the  deep  sustenance  of  her  breast ;  and  to  them  often 
enough  her  milk  is  bitter. 

This  that  follows  is  the  story  of  one  to  whom  her  breast 
was  still  sweet,  and  her  strength  piercing ;  in  him  she  had 
back  in  her  arms  a  contented  suckling  of  huge  big  appe- 


4  A     MODERN     ANTAEUS 

tite  —  a  blithe  piece  of  clay  shaped  to  take  in  the  oil  and 

wine  and  gladness  which  still  How  from  her  veins.  In  the 

beginning  you  shall  see  him  vigorously  at  suck ;  and  at 

the  end  you  shall  not  find  him  properly  weaned.  If.  in 

the  meanwhile,  her  milk  has  soured  to  his  taste,  others, 
not  I,  must  judge  where  the  fault  has  lain. 

****** 

There  is  a  moment  in  early  childhood  when  existence, 
outgrowing  mere  instinct,  takes  to  itself  the  shape  of 
thought :  the  mind  which  till  then  was  merely  receptive 
becomes  active,  and  asserts  a  self -consciousness  that  can 
never  again  be  wholly  lost  sight  of.  It  is  then,  perhaps, 
that  the  life  of  character  begins,  and  that  association 
starts  to  lay  those  colours  upon  the  brain,  those  primings 
for  the  picture  that  is  to  follow,  which  remain  so  perma- 
nent. A  word  then  first  laid  to  mind  may  carry  ever  after 
a  distinction  that  cannot  be  got  rid  of ;  to  many  minds,  for 
instance,  the  word  "  daylight  "  must  have  in  it  also  a  no- 
tion of  dawn,  the  hour  which  makes  light  most  memor- 
able, the  hour  at  which,  perhaps,  we  first  noticed  it  as 
children. 

The  first  daylight  of  Tristram  Gavney's  life,  in  any 
special  sense,  was  that  which  saw  him  up  from  a  long  bed 
of  sickness,  feeling  his  frail  body  back  again,  after  an  im- 
measurable absence,  in  clothes  which  now  seemed  harsh 
and  difficult  to  live  in.  An  outer  world  dimly  remembered 
was  waiting  for  him ;  the  doctor  had  given  word  that,  if 
the  weather  held  fair,  he  was  to  go  out,  and  his  trained 
nurse,  after  dressing  and  covering  him  with  innumerable 
wraps,  had  gone  to  fetch  him  his  posset,  and  was  taking 
time  to  return. 

The  minutes  of  waiting  had  so  little  purpose  that  they 
grew  tedious ;  he  took  his  muffled  body  to  the  head  of  the 
staircase,  lingered  there  till  patience  once  more  became  an 
apparent  folly,  and  at  last  let  a  bold  proposition  venture 


THE    NURSING    OF    ANTAEUS  5 

ahead  of  the  scruples  which  stayed  his  feet.  From  top  to 
bottom  the  stairs  seemed  a  great  descent,  and  the  dark 
hall  archway  through  which  they  led  made  them  all  the 
more  formidable.  He  put  down  a  foot  and  drew  it  up 
again.  Then  he  took  hold  of  the  overhead  banister  rail, 
slid  forward  his  weight  on  it,  and  began  to  descend. 

Even  so  it  felt  safer  to  plant  both  feet  upon  every  grade ; 
stairs  had  become  unfamiliar  things  to  him.  Progressing 
thus  in  the  flop-and-shuffle  style  of  babyhood,  he  felt  him- 
self ridiculous  when  the  sound  of  a  footstep  threatened  to 
make  him  a  spectacle.  He  loosed  hold  two  steps  from  the 
end,  tottered,  and  came  floundering  forward  into  the 
thick-haired  rug  below. 

"  All  right !  "  he  grumbled  aloud,  apprehensive  of  de- 
tection in  so  all  wrong  an  attitude.  But  the  alarm  was 
false ;  nobody  came ;  and  the  respite  set  him  off  upon  his 
legs  again.  Across  the  hall  toward  the  front  door  his 
boots  made  a  big  feeble  clatter ;  those  ends  of  him  had  be- 
come noisy  and  too  heavy  for  management ;  they  bumped 
his  feet  down  at  random,  and  seemed  half-stuck  to  the 
ground  before  each  step.  That  he  had  been  ill  all  over 
for  weeks  he  remembered  ;  but  only  now  when  he  tried  to 
walk  did  he  realise  how  ill  his  legs  had  been.  All  the 
house  seemed  to  have  been  ill.  too ;  the  coat-rack  was 
emptied  of  its  appendages,  and  through  an  open  door  he 
saw  bare  boards,  lowered  blinds,  carpets  rolled  and 
stacked  into  a  corner,  and  dust-sheets  over  the  few  large 
pieces  of  furniture  that  remained.  The  whole  place  — 
the  hall,  the  staircase,  and  the  banister  —  smelt,  as  he  did, 
of  embrocations.  Every  sight  that  met  his  eye  denied  him 
recognition,  mutilated  his  feelings,  and  decimated  his  af- 
fections ;  and  a  vague  resentment  grew  in  the  child's  mind 
against  sickness  and  .the  absence  of  friends,  as  if  these 
were  one  and  the  same  thing,  or  arose  from  the  same 
causes. 


6  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

In  his  own  case  it  was  mainly  true.  His  illness  had 
come  late  to  prove  the  expediency  of  a  change  already 
determined  on.  The  house  that  had  long  seemed  un- 
healthy had  even  then  been  vacated  by  the  rest  of  its  ten- 
ants, and  nothing  but  the  boy's  illness  from  a  lingering 
fever  had  prolonged  the  partial  occupancy.  So  now  the 
revival  of  his  early  childish  intelligence  was  to  synchronise 
rather  unfitly  with  the  snapping  of  old  associations,  when 
the  word  "  home "  would  have  once  more  to  shape  a 
meaning  for  itself  out  of  new  settings,  on  the  top  of 
others,  which  were  never  quite  to  lose  their  significance. 
Tristram's  brain,  from  the  camera  obscura  of  his  sick 
room,  was  destined  to  receive  briefly,  as  on  a  sensitive 
film,  this  impression  of  old  things  in  dissolution,  of  things 
which  he  had  already  learned  vaguely  to  love,  and  would 
meet  with  no  more  in  life. 

Overhead  the  nurse's  voice  called  "  Tristram  !  "  Before 
him  the  front  door  stood  open ;  he  went  gravely  on,  and 
stepping  out  on  to  the  gravel,  took  his  first  stare  at  the 
sunshine  and  a  world  new  and  old. 

He  knew  the  ways  of  this  garden  well  enough,  but  not 
its  looks.  What  he  remembered  best  was  a  place  of  bare 
boughs,  which  had  suddenly  all  gone  white  and  sick,  like 
the  furniture  under  its  dust-sheets.  After  that  had  fol- 
lowed his  own  sickness ;  and  from  his  bed  he  had 
watched,  at  times,  a  dull  sky  and  the  tops  of  trees  that 
had  no  green  in  them.  Now  it  seemed  a  thousand  new 
things  had  stepped  in  ;  the  garden  was  full  of  sweet  dis- 
turbances, flittings  of  birds,  and  siftings  of  a  light  wind 
coming  and  going  among  the  boughs.  Also  in  the  heart 
of  the  stems  was  a  thick  flush  of  green ;  and  here  and 
there  a  foam  of  blossom  cast  itself  white  against  dark 
piles  of  evergreen,  or  broke  in  soft  dusk  against  the  gay 
air. 

Out  of  laurels  hard  bv  a  blackbird  broke  cover,  and  fled 


THE    NURSING    OF    ANTAEUS  7 

chinking  to  a  more  distant  shelter.  To  the  child  that  loud 
note,  sounded  so  near  and  so  suddenly,  was  like  a  buffet 
in  the  face.  Other  cries  pealed  round  him,  the  arrogant 
laughter  of  bright  lives  disregarding  his. 

He  grew  sick  for  a  little  recognition,  and  turned  to  look 
up  at  the  windows  of  the  house.  White  blinds  looked 
back  at  him.  Lower  than  the  rest  of  the  first  storey,  but 
above  his  reach,  was  one  irregularly  set,  and  with  raised 
blind,  that  he  remembered  with  special  affection ;  the 
lower  branches  of  an  easy-climbing  tree  led  up  to  its  sill. 

"  Auntie  Dorrie !  "  called  the  child,  trusting  that  the 
radiant  visitor  who  had  brought  gay  intervals  to  his  sick- 
chamber  might  be  there  within  call,  "  Auntie  Dorrie !  "  a 
little  anger  mixed  with  his  surprise  that  the  windows  did 
not  fly  open  to  him. 

Within  doors  Tristram's  nurse  was  rummaging  in  cor- 
ners for  her  escaped  charge  ;  not  dreaming  to  look  for  him 
so  far  out  of  hand,  she  searched  in  vain.  Presently  from 
the  end  of  a  small  corridor  she  heard  tabberings  on  glass, 
and  the  cry  of  "  Auntie  Dorrie !  "  that  began  to  be  a  wail. 
Tracking  the  sounds  in  anxious  wrath,  she  came  flurrying 
to  the  little  sun-lit  sitting-room,  half-bared  of  its  belong- 
ings, and  saw  a  white  face  among  branches,  flattening 
itself  against  the  pane. 

To  Tristram  the  angry  apparition  which  flew  hastily  to 
the  window  to  grab  at  him  was  that  of  an  entire  stranger : 
a  dearer  vision  had  so  strong  a  hold  on  his  expectations. 
He  went  down  solid  into  the  bush  below  him;  and  his 
nurse's  scream  was  ever  after  a  part  in  the  bird-chorus 
that  fluted  through  his  memories  of  that  first  day. 


CHAPTER  II 


GERMINAL 


T?OR  his  health's  sake  and  for  out-of-the-way  quiet. 
■*■  they  brought  Tristram  to  a  small  hillside  cottage, 
three  miles  from  his  late  home,  which  had  lain  too  low, 
draining  an  old  graveyard,  and  hemmed  round  by  elms  as 
ancient  as  the  house  itself.  Now,  like  a  pot-plant  turned 
out  to  sun,  he  sat  in  a  trellised  porch,  where  after  a  while 
small  old-fashioned  magenta  roses  began  to  bloom,  and 
imbibed  there  a  liking  for  a  colour  which  turns  vicious 
when  transferred  from  its  flowery  texture  to  any  fabric  of 
man's  weaving.  This  was  the  home  of  his  old  nurse,  who 
had  been  his  mother's  nurse  also,  and  had  here  retired, 
worn  by  domestic  strain,  on  savings  and  a  pension.  Com- 
ing to  this  hale  locality,  she  had  greened  into  fresh  vigour, 
and  hearing  of  Tristram  convalescent  after  his  long  ill- 
ness, she  had  clamoured  to  have  that  latest  of  her  babes 
back  into  her  arms.  The  sight  of  the  welcoming  face 
which  leaned  into  the  carriage  on  his  arrival,  brought  with 
it  only  a  vague  sense  of  familiarity  ;  but  soon  her  habits 
with  him,  and  the  little  home  she  had  made  round  her  of 
knick-knacks  gathered  in  long  service,  coaxed  his  memory 
to  recover  the  charm  of  their  old  relations. 

This  place  where  he  found  himself  was  hardly  beauti- 
ful ;  but  to  Tristram's  eyes  it  became  so.  Two  cottages 
backed  by  a  barton  stood  off  the  road  on  a  bank,  with  a 
bright  edge  of  garden  dividing  them  from  the  rural  traffic 

8 


GERMINAL  9 

that  went  by.  Round  them  stood  fields,  rather  treeless, 
but  thick  in  crops,  for  the  service  of  which  the  barton 
stood  as  stable-yard  and  granary,  an  off-shoot  from  a 
larger  farm. 

The  light  lay  still  inarticulate  and  blanched  on  the 
child's  mind,  brought  to  renew  its  sense  of  local  colour  in 
that  simple  place.  His  body  had  still  some  tremors  of  its 
recent  illness,  and  his  brain  took  fright  easily  at  darkness 
or  unexpected  sounds ;  loneliness,  on  the  other  hand,  be- 
gan already  to  be  one  of  his  pleasures.  All  the  more 
quickly  did  he  receive  the  inspirations  of  the  small  rural 
world,  which  in  a  few  days  contained  nothing  that  was 
stranger  to  him  than  the  safe  open  spaces  where  he  might 
be  alone,  yet  within  sound  of  Mrs.  Harbour's  chiding  call. 
Within  a  fortnight  he  vegetated  into  a  true  cottager. 

No  doubt  his  small  doings  in  the  few  weeks  he  was 
there  had  a  plain  prosaic  exterior ;  but  this  ring  of  fields 
and  farm  and  garden  became  to  Tristram  an  enchanted 
spot,  memory  made  him  look  back  on  it  as  the  nest  where 
he  first  fledged,  the  holy  ground  on  which,  so  it  seemed  to 
him  then,  he  had  stood  and  watched  the  tree  of  life  brim- 
ming with  fire  yet  not  consumed. 

Unknown  to  himself  the  boy  was  renewing  the  asso- 
ciations of  a  still  earlier  visit,  discovering  a  mysterious 
familiarity  in  things  he  had  seen  while  yet  in  the  first 
toddling  stage  of  infancy,  and  again  forgotten. 

No  chronicle  can  take  in  a  whole  life,  and  follow  it 
without  gaps  and  omissions ;  there  is  a  blind  spot  in  the 
eye  of  each  one  of  us ;  it  is  only  by  that  incompleteness 
that  we  see  anything.  Autobiographers  leave  whole  tracts 
of  themselves  undiscovered ;  nor  could  Tristram  in  after 
years  have  given  more  than  a  maimed  account  of  himself. 
Even  this  chronicle  depending  on  many  synoptic  records 
has  to  stray  backwards  and  forwards  for  hints  of  him,  un- 
certain of  their  true  sequence ;  some  of  them  perhaps  were 


io  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

earlier  than  the  day  already  told  of  when  consciousness 
first  struck  hard  upon  his  faculties,  belonging  in  that  case 
to  his  previous  coming  into  the  locality  where  we  now 
find  him.  Hints  only,  for  to  follow  elaborately  the  school- 
ing of  early  years  would  only  be  wearisome.  Young  life 
picking  out  its  five-fingered  exercises  sounds  monotonous 
when  heard  without  intermission  ;  only  now  and  then  does 
accented  experience  break  in  on  the  routine.  Then  the 
exercise  changes  and  becomes  a  sort  of  tune ;  out  of  it  the 
gods  get  humorous  promptings  of  what  troubles  their 
puppet  is  likely  to  be  in  hereafter,  and  so  set  the  callow 
tunester  back  again  to  his  stiff  digital  drill. 

Mrs.  Ann  Harbour,  the  "  Xan-nan  "  of  Tristram's 
youth,  tells  in  her  grey  old  age  of  his  two  visits  to  her 
hillside  cottage  many  things  that  would  otherwise  be  for- 
gotten. To  her  ears  the  daily  noise  of  him  never  grew 
monotonous :  of  nurses,  gods  and  men  may  learn  a  lesson 
in  patience  and  kind  charity.  But  to  the  outer  world  we 
give  no  more  than  random  pictures  of  him,  cinematograph 
glimpses,  faces  that  he  threw  on  and  off,  till  life,  taking 
his  measure,  found  a  face-mould  to  fit  him,  or  to  cramp 
him  into  that  likeness  which  it  chose  that  he  should  wear. 
These  faces  are  the  lives  through  which  all  that  is  human 
passes  in  its  growth ;  and  one  wonders  how  many  of  them 
will  be  allowed  to  appear  before  that  last  Court  of  Appeal, 
where  Theology  calls  souls  up  to  judgment.  Will  each 
face  in  turn  come  pleading  its  creation,  and  claiming  a 
soul  to  inhabit  it,  as  scrupulous  Moslems  teach  to  veto 
the  painted  and  the  graven  image?  Or  is  it  only  the  last 
mask  of  all,  the  worn-out  one  lying  under  the  death-sheet, 
that  counts?  At  the  end  of  most  men's  lives  there  are 
seven  bodies  demanding  resurrection,  and  which  of  them 
all  does  the  soul  take  to  wife?  Surely  an  unbiassed  record 
of  life  must  almost  of  necessity  put  a  note  of  interrogation 
in  the  place  of  any  final  Amen.  So  here  you  may  find  it 
when  all  is  done. 


GERMINAL  n 

Of  Tristram's  earliest  days  memories  have  hoarded 
things  which  he  himself  had  soon  forgotten.  Mrs.  Har- 
bour tells  of  him,  that  from  the  hour  when  he  could  first 
walk,  never  was  there  such  a  child  for  getting  into  water. 
She  might  have  added  —  for  getting  out  of  it  also,  from 
the  many  times  Tristram  had  stood  before  her  in  an  un- 
explained state  of  drench,  requiring  dressings  in  two 
kinds,  each  preventive  of  cold  to  the  system.  It  was  on 
this  point  that  his  tongue  first  learned  to  babble  fiction, 
ascribing  to  a  fabulous  being  whom  he  named  "  the 
Kitchyman  "  the  wringing  wetness  of  his  attire.  Pres- 
ently, however,  finding  that  he  had  to  bear  the  Kitchy- 
man's  sins  in  his  own  body,  he  resumed  the  glory  which  he 
had  laid  aside,  let  the  Kitchyman's  name  go  the  way  of 
dreams,  and  avowed  himself  independently  the  culprit. 

Once  he  appeared  dragging  by  the  collar  a  large  amiable 
retriever,  and  demanded  backsheesh  for  the  quadruped. 
For  wetness  there  was  not  a  dry  hair  to  choose  between 
them ;  but  the  dog,  he  insisted,  was  good,  while  for  Baba 
he  had  no  kind  word  —  thus  early  distinguishing  a  moral 
difference  between  his  own  dampness  and  that  of  an  un- 
clothed animal.  The  dog  was  rewarded  with  fire-warmth 
and  a  meal,  dimly  suspected  of  a  deed  of  modest  heroism 
which  was  born  to  blush  unseen  in  his  own  dumb  beast's 
consciousness.  Tristram  meeting  him  afterwards  about 
the  lanes  and  fields,  would  point  him  out  as  "  Kitchyman's 
wow-wow,"  and  the  two  kept  up  a  tail-wagging  acquaint- 
ance. Yet  it  may  be  curiously  noted  that  the  only  recollec- 
tion Tristram  had  of  the  affair  in  later  years  was 
friendship  for  a  large  dog,  the  origin  of  which  lay  for- 
gotten behind  the  genial  character  of  their  meetings. 

In  many  small  ways  those  early  years  proved  him  a  rare 
handful ;  but  in  the  direction  of  water  he  seemed  to  pre- 
cipitate himself  with  a  sort  of  chemical  affinity.  His  old 
Nan-nan,  after  she  had  wrung  him  out  to  dry  time  and 


12  A     MODERN     ANTAEUS 

again,  wept  at  last,  believing  that  she  saw  the  drowned 
end  of  him  already  revealing  itself.  She  became  so  ap- 
prehensive on  the  subject  that  her  application  of  the  disci- 
pline ceased.  On  a  dry  skin  he  continued  to  pay  tribute  to 
her  motherings :  wet,  he  became  a  sacred  object  to  her. 
Obstinate  questionings  began  in  her  devout  mind  whether 
her  charge  had  ever  been  properly  baptised  or  no ;  and  as 
the  pious  dread  presented  itself,  she  beheld  all  at  once  a 
reason  why  on  every  occasion  he  should  gravitate  to  that 
element  where  his  spiritual  birthright  lay  denied  to  him. 
The  closing  duty  of  her  domestic  service  had  been  to  re- 
ceive him  from  the  hands  of  a  gabbling  French  bonne, 
and  she  doubted  whether  pure  Christianity  could  come 
out  of  a  land  where  the  English  tongue  was  not  spoken. 
So  from  long  to  short  it  was  borne  in  on  her  that  her 
babe  was  in  spiritual  distress,  and  his  soul  clamouring  by 
outward  and  visible  signs  for  a  remedy.  Her  blood  cur- 
dled in  her  one  day  to  hear  him  talking  over  the  well's 
mouth  and  coining  back  answers  from  below.  Supersti- 
tiously  she  came  to  the  conviction  that  the  child  had  a  fa- 
miliar spirit ;  so,  in  the  hopes  of  setting  a  barrier  between 
him  and  further  communications,  she  nerved  herself  the 
same  night  to  give  him  provisional  baptism  in  the  large 
crock  tub  wherein  she  bathed  him,  choosing  the  name  of 
an  old  heroic  race,  and  the  one  which  she  herself  applied 
to  the  sturdy  troublesomeness  of  her  bantling,  as  likely  to 
be  effectual  against  any  futile  assaults  of  the  enemy. 

"  Trojer,  I  baptise  thee!  "  was  the  formal  beginning  of 
that  exorcism,  and  the  name  tickled  a  place  for  itself  in 
the  child's  memory.  She  followed  it  up  by  complete  im- 
mersion, put  extra  prayers  into  his  mouth  before  bed,  and 
tucked  him  between  the  sheets  with  a  satisfied  sense  that 
she  had  made  a  whole  Christian  of  him. 

A  couple  of  days  later,  her  confidence  sank  to  a  queegle 
of  alarm  when  she  overheard  something  of  the  following 


GERMINAL  13 

colloquy  taking  place  over  the  well's  edge ;  and,  as  before, 
inaudible  answers  seemed  to  be  finding  their  way  up  from 
below. 

Tristram  had  begun  by  dropping  down  a  pebble ;  listen- 
ing till  he  heard  the  sound  of  its  splash  below,  he  called 
over  the  brim:  "  Kitchyman,  you  'wake  down  there? ,: 

The  question  was  repeated  with  insistence  till  a  satis- 
factory answer  seemed  to  arrive. 

Kitchyman  having  awakened ;  "  Why  can't  you  climb 
up  here  ?  "  was  the  next  inquiry.  Repeated  as  before,  it 
gained  impressiveness ;  the  studied  deafness  of  the  oracle 
made  him  a  more  real  person  to  the  child's  brain. 

Presently  an  answer  was  vouchsafed.  "  Oh,  is  that 
why  ?  "  came  Tristram's  surprise. 

The  child  cogitated,  then  spoke  further :  "  How  am  I 
to  come  down  —  in  a  bucket  ?  "  And  after  longer  delib- 
eration, roving  off  on  a  fresh  theme,  "  Shall  I  frow  you 
down  some  more  stones  ?  " 

The  stones  were  thrown  till  the  child  wearied.  He  bent 
forward  on  his  knees  and  peered  down  into  the  well. 
After  a  pause  he  said :  "  Now  I'm  going  to  play  in  the 
garden ;  when  you  want  me  you've  got  to  call." 

There  was  a  further  pause,  "What?"  said  Tristram, 
preparing  to  go.  Then  again,  more  interrogatively, 
"What?" 

This  time  he  was  able  to  gather  the  Kitchyman's  mean- 
ing.   "  Oh !  "  he  blabbed,  "  call  '  Trojer  ' !  " 

As  the  word  went  out  of  him  he  felt  himself  caught  up 
from  behind  and  borne  away  indoors,  there  to  be  set 
down  to  say  his  prayers  in  the  presence  of  kitchen 
chairs  and  fire-irons,  and  with  the  smell  of  dinner  seeth- 
ing to  him  from  under  saucepan  lids  —  a  thing  disturbing 
to  his  small  jog-trot  sense  of  theology.  For  the  rest  of 
that  day,  and  for  many  days  afterwards,  his  well  was  for- 
bidden him. 


M  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

Other  talkings  to  himself  which  she  overheard  on  his 
second  visit  to  her,  had  the  effect  of  raising  in  the  old 
body  beliefs  which  had  grown  dormant.  It  was  evident 
to  her  senses  that  the  child  knew  of  places  whither  his 
legs  did  not  carry  him,  and  saw  things  for  which  experi- 
ence provided  him  with  no  name.  His  powers  of  escape 
were  phenomenal ;  when  she  thought  him  most  safe  in 
one  direction,  he  would  return  to  her  mildewed  and  mired 
from  another.  Mrs.  Harbour  seriously  doubted  within 
herself  whether  he  had  not  two  states.  She  tempted  his 
confidence  with  the  best  she  had  to  give :  on  the  tablets  of 
his  brain  her  characters  stood  writ  large.  But  though 
she  was  a  veritable  storehouse  of  wise  lore  which  he  was 
free  to  rummage  for  the  satisfaction  of  his  own  terrors, 
never  could  he  be  persuaded  to  repay  her  in  kind  :  over  the 
parallel  wonders  of  his  own  life  his  lips  shut  stolidly. 
The  fairies  and  the  evil  chances,  and  the  happenings 
which  filled  hobgoblin  corners  of  Mrs.  Harbour's  super- 
stitious soul  did  but  push  into  the  deepest  recesses  of  his 
secrecy  the  child's  assured  sense  of  their  truth.  Her 
mouth  was  a  medium  for  dark  and  oracular  utterances ; 
he  worshipped  its  sound  silently.  Words  of  a  gory  flavour 
that  she  used,  he  loved  and  waited  for ;  they  lay  sensation- 
ally at  certain  points  of  her  stories,  like  murder  stains  on 
a  carpet  whose  pattern  he  knew  by  heart.  Left  unex- 
plained, they  made  for  themselves  enlarged  meanings  in 
his  brain :  horror  enriched  itself  with  the  sensuous  opu- 
lence of  their  sound. 

"  A  whole  menagerie  of  wives,"  was  a  phrase  in  the 
"  Blue  Beard  "  story,  against  which  his  mind  aired  itself 
aghast;  and  from  "Jack  the  Giant  Killer,"  the  "out 
tumbled  his  tripes  and  his  trollibones,"  which  described 
the  haggis-like  undoing  of  the  hospitable  giant,  at  whose 
table  Jack  treacherously  sat  down,  gave  him  another 
freezing  vision. 


GERMINAL  15 

Such  dear  terrors  childhood  hugs,  nor  wills  to  be  rid  of 
them ;  prefers  rather,  like  older  greedy  dyspeptics,  to  suf- 
fer horribly  from  the  satisfaction  of  its  fundamental  crav- 
ings. The  appetite  for  knowledge  has  lasted  well  since 
our  first  parents  implanted  it  in  us,  and  we  hunt  it  more 
through  life  than  we  do  happiness.  Beside  its  charms, 
blissful  ignorance  nods,  a  withered  wall-flower.  One  por- 
tion of  childhood,  that  especially  between  the  ages  of  three 
and  seven,  is  almost  entirely  dominated  by  the  dreams  of 
waking  and  sleeping,  which  spring  from  undigested  know- 
ledge. When  those  years  are  over,  they  leave  behind 
them  a  field  ploughed  alike  by  battle  and  by  burial, 
wherein  at  least  one  phase  of  theological  thought  has  died 
and  another  sprung.  Here,  one  may  think,  meets  the  min- 
gled blood  of  ancestry,  and  we  feel  our  parentage  fighting 
within  us  to  a  confused  end  for  the  predominance  of  race. 
During  that  time  of  his  life,  names  and  sounds  and  things 
had  for  Tristram  a  weight  and  terror  which  worked  out 
into  a  species  of  fetish  worship. 

Strange  little  antipathies  moved  in  him  also,  as  opposed 
to  the  terrors  of  which  he  grew  fond.  Mrs.  Harbour  saw 
him  rise  up  one  day  from  his  crawlings  with  a  white  face, 
crying  to  her  that  he  had  touched  a  "  pussy  cat."  Know- 
ing of  nothing  that  could  be  there,  she  explored,  and 
found  a  ball  of  fluff,  such  as  collects  from  the  brushing  of 
carpets ;  and  as  she  handled  it,  the  child  whimpered,  im- 
ploring her  to  put  it  away. 

Upon  Tristram's  solitary  goings  a  wonderful  troop  of 
potencies  waited,  big  and  black  and  bogey-like.  In  his 
pursuit  of  and  flight  from  the  evil  chances  which  dodged 
his  footsteps,  he  became  something  of  a  gambler  with  fate ; 
yet  had,  too,  the  elation  of  a  hunted  thing  sure  of  its  agil- 
ity and  speed.  Adventurous  instinct  would  draw  the  child 
on  to  snuff  the  tainted  air  of  dark  corners,  and  to  tempt, 
where  mystery  and  danger  lurked,  the  spring  which  he 


16  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

never  saw,  but  felt  rearing  at  his  back  as  he  turned  and 
ran. 

Many  of  these  potencies  had  come  out  of  the  lullabies 
sung  to  him  by  his  old  Nan-nan,  dreamy  suggestions  of 
them  gradually  becoming  more  real  as  their  legends  fixed 
themselves  in  his  mind,  till  each  at  last  grew  into  a  sepa- 
rate godhead.  Robin  the  Bobbin  was  one  of  these,  a 
deep-mouthed  brute,  swelling  visibly  over  his  Sunday  din- 
ner of  priests,  people,  and  churches. 

"  Robin  the  Bobbin,  the  big-bellied  Ben, 
Ate  more  meat  than  fourscore  men : 
He  ate  a  cow,  he  ate  a  calf, 
He  ate  a  butcher  and  a  half; 
He  ate  the  church,  he  ate  the  steeple, 
He  ate  the  priest  and  all  the  people." 

So  the  song  ran.  Tristram  used  to  wonder  how  and 
why,  out  of  that  rapacious  appetite,  the  second  half  of  one 
poor  butcher  escaped.  His  imagination  gave  him  sight 
of  a  pair  of  legs  shooting  in  panic  round  the  world,  any- 
where, anywhere,  to  be  out  of  it;  and  his  fear  was  lest 
some  day  in  the  lane  he  might  meet  them  running. 

Another  of  his  most  cherished  bogeys  was  the  "  Korn- 
kree,"  that  had  lived  for  many  days  in  a  great  fixed  ward- 
robe of  the  now  vacated  home,  but  had  easily  transferred 
its  dwelling  to  the  dark  coffin-like  stair-cupboard  of  Mrs. 
Harbour's  small  cottage.  Never  could  Tristram  climb 
that  stair  alone  without  a  dreadful  anticipation  in  his  two 
legs  that  some  day  the  devil  would  take  the  hindmost  and 
have  him  fast. 

The  ritual  and  religion  of  Tristram's  life  were  far 
more  bound  up  in  these  hobgoblin  observances  than  in 
the  small  forms,  which  he  said  over  by  rote  night  and 
morning  at  his  old  nurse's  knee.  Started  from  so  pagan  a 
setting,  a  similar,  dissimilar  being,  germinating  out  of  the 


GERMINAL  17 

innumerable  births  and  deaths  of  these  mental  microbes, 
we  are  presently  to  see  him  come  to  youth's  and  man's 
estate. 

If  by  now  the  reader  has  a  smattering  of  Tristram's  in- 
tellectual and  physical  equipment,  he  will  be  ready  to  fol- 
low him  for  a  while  through  incidents  toward  which  the 
motive  force  lies  here  behind. 


CHAPTER  III 

SHOWS    THAT    OUT    OF    A    MARE's    NEST    MAY 
SPRING    NIGHTMARE 

Hp  HE  barton  at  the  rear  formed  a  boundary  for  poultry, 
which  lay  in  the  care  of  Mrs.  Tracy,  the  tenant  of 
the  adjoining  cottage.  She  and  her  daughter  Sally  would 
often  take  Tristram  with  them  when  they  went  the  rounds 
on  a  search  after  eggs ;  and  before  long  the  child  became 
familiar  with  the  queer  habits  of  broody  hens,  and  found 
zest  in  tracking  these  cenotaphs  of  maternity  to  their 
shadowy  nesting-places.  Every  day  gave  chance  of  dis- 
covering lyings-in  illicitly  conducted ;  and  to  pry  out  some 
nest  richly  lined  with  accumulated  deposit  was  a  delight 
to  the  boy's  marauding  instinct.  To  the  methodical  egg- 
collector,  on  the  other  hand,  these  brood-cravings  were  a 
worry  and  a  waste  of  profit,  eggs  of  doubtful  date  and 
condition  having  to  be  tabled  off  from  the  results  on 
which  payment  was  earned.  It  was  natural,  therefore, 
that  unauthorised  sittings  should  be  sternly  suppressed. 
Tristram  saw  one  day  with  squirmy  horror  an  obstinate 
brooder  ducked  almost  to  death  ;  pleaded  for  its  life,  and 
watched  it  slowly  revive  from  the  heap  of  rubbish  where 
the  callous-hearted  Sally  had  flung  it  to  drain.  It  was  as 
broody  as  ever  the  next  day,  and  for  its  persistence  went 
up  in  the  urchin's  estimation,  while  its  foiled  persecutor 
went  down. 

Though  at  times  he  played  with  the  children  from  the 
neighbouring  cottages,   his  games  with  them  gave  the 

18 


OUT    OF    A    MARE'S    NEST  19 

least  effective  employment  to  his  intellect.  He  preferred 
loneliness,  or  to  stand  at  elbow  of  older  folk,  watching 
doings  that  for  him  had  a  far  greater  suggestion  of  real 
purpose.  He  would  follow  the  farm-hands  as  they  fed 
and  stabled  their  horses ;  or  when  the  haymaking  had  set 
free  the  fields  by  the  lower  farm,  would  accompany  the 
beasts  down  to  their  night-pastures,  himself  proudly  at 
perch  on  the  broad  back  of  a  dark  favourite.  There,  no 
rider,  the  boy  would  hang,  clinging  to  a  last  tuft  of  worn 
mane,  and,  if  the  creature  stopped  to  browse,  was  as  likely 
to  get  tumbled  off  as  to  stick  on,  but  would  in  no  case  ask 
to  be  dismounted  till  the  end  was  reached. 

One  morning  he  awoke  to  a  busy  humming  noise  abroad 
in  air,  and  to  feel  his  bed  shaken  under  him  by  an  accom- 
panying vibration.  Looking  out  of  his  small  lattice,  he 
saw,  for  the  first  time,  a  threshing-machine  busy  at  work 
in  the  yard  below ;  workers  were  up  aloft,  and  round 
them  motes  were  flying,  making  a  mist  in  the  bright  air. 
The  machine  itself  was  backed  close  upon  the  wall  against 
which  rested  Tristram's  bed,  so  that  from  his  window  he 
almost  could  look  down  the  black  throat  of  the  monster 
who  inspired  him  with  so  little  fear:  and  for  many  ab- 
sorbed hours  of  that  day,  he  stood  watching  the  steam- 
thing  and  its  human  accessories  at  work.  Then  it  chanced 
that,  peeping  into  the  water-tank  from  which  it  drew  sup- 
ply, he  saw  a  mouse  that  had  wantonly  been  thrown  there 
to  slow  death,  paddling  round  the  sides  in  endeavour  to 
escape,  and  reaching  instinctively  to  pull  it  out,  got  sur- 
prisingly bitten  for  his  pains.  He  threw  off  the  rescued 
vermin  in  a  sort  of  horror,  while  frightened  wonder  took 
possession  of  him  at  the  un-understandingness  of  the 
creature  he  had  been  moved  to  pity.  Creeping  furtively 
away  with  his  bleeding  finger-end,  he  cried  softly  to  him- 
self, not  for  the  pain,  but  for  the  shock  to  his  hurt  feel- 
ings.   The  incident  aged  him,  thrust  life  at  him  in  a  fresh 


20  A     MODERN    ANTAEUS 

aspect ;  and  it  was  as  a  tired  morsel  of  himself  that  he 
came  soon  after,  and  dropped  to  sleep  long  before  bed- 
time, in  Mrs.  Harbour's  arms. 

Thus  from  one  and  another,  and  only  at  times  from 
himself,  we  get  a  few  memorable  factors  of  the  child's 
life,  its  wild-honey  storing  itself  in  the  cells  of  many  di- 
verse minds.  Mrs.  Harbour,  as  she  clasped  him  sleeping, 
and  wondered  at  that  early  weariness,  did  not  know  how 
his  small  brain  already  held  beginnings  of  an  old  age, 
which  was  to  be  so  much  before  he  was  twenty-two. 

Some  days  later  at  breakfast,  while  he  sat  mugging  his 
bread  and  milk,  Tristram's  ears  were  ravished  by  hearing 
the  name  of  his  Aunt  Doris  read  out  to  him  from  a  letter 
which  Mrs.  Nannie  was  holding.  It  was  from  the  dear 
lady  herself,  and  contained  in  one  part  devout  messages 
addressed  to  her  boy,  ending  in  a  long  series  of  round 
O's,  an  established  form  of  epistolary  greeting  between 
her  and  the  illiterate  eyes  of  her  godchild. 

Tristram  demanded  his  own,  and  hugging  them  with  a 
fondling  remembrance  of  their  author's  niceness,  babbled 
to  have  repeated  to  him  once  more  all  that  the  letter  had 
said.  While  he  kept  fast  possession,  Mrs.  Harbour  re- 
cited the  substance  of  news  which  put  a  term  to  her  own 
happy  tenure  of  authority :  within  a  few  days  he  would  be 
under  his  godmother's  roof,  there  to  await  the  re-gather- 
ing of  kindred,  who  had  almost  dropped  out  of  recollec- 
tion. In  the  names  read  over  to  him,  those  of  his  mother 
and  of  Marcia,  his  sister,  were  the  fainter  memories. 
The  sunny  South  of  France  had  held  them  estranged ; 
even  now,  with  the  former,  his  meeting  was  likely  to  be 
delayed  till  the  most  equable  conditions  of  sea  and  weather 
could  add  ease  to  the  long  journey,  and  so  northward  a 
return. 

But  for  Tristram  the  thought  of  his  Aunt  Doris  was 
sufficient   for  the  day ;  behind  that  all  happiness  blew. 


OUT    OF    A    MARE'S    NEST  21 

His  mind  went  out  into  his  small  world  on  a  search  for 
her  whereabouts.  To  his  question  "  Where  is  she  now?  " 
the  name  of  Little  Towberry  for  answer  carried  a  flavour 
of  fruits,  a  garden,  and  a  creeper-covered  house,  lighting 
on  a  mind  in  which  sweet  tastes  and  scents  were  the 
keenest  prompters  of  memory.  To  spot  it  down  on  his 
picture-puzzle  of  places,  he  asked  how  long  it  would  take 
them  to  get  there ;  and  his  nurse,  meaning  by  train,  reck- 
oned it  as  only  an  hour. 

He  retained  the  letter  with  a  parade  of  ownership 
which  Mrs.  Nannie  was  at  no  trouble  to  dispute,  knowing 
that  at  the  day's  end  it  would  return  to  her  safely  enough, 
with  all  the  dirt  of  his  affections  upon  it,  but  in  no  other 
way  damaged.  His  instinct  for  treasure  was  tenacious ; 
this  particular  one  accompanied  him  through  the  many 
occupations  of  a  long  day.  She  saw  him  building  it 
round  with  a  wall  of  pebbles  on  the  brick  floor  of  the 
porch,  till  near  the  hour  of  noon ;  later  he  was  tempting 
the  snap-dragons  to  take  bites  of  it ;  and  at  tea-time  he 
sold  her  the  corner  kiss  on  the  last  page,  in  return  for 
some  sugar  upon  his  bread.  When  the  indulgence  had 
been  won,  the  mercenary  character  of  the  transaction  lay 
upon  his  conscience ;  so  the  kiss  was  bought  back  by  a 
promise  to  be  good  and  obedient  under  charge  of  Sally 
Tracy,  while  Mrs.  Harbour  went  off  with  the  girl's 
mother  for  an  evening's  marketing. 

To  be  put  to  bed  by  any  hands  but  the  customary  ones 
of  his  own  Harbour  was  purgatory  to  the  subtle,  shy  in- 
stincts of  the  child's  anatomy.  On  a  previous  Tuesday 
night  he  had  sat  up  stolid  and  stormy,  refusing  the  minis- 
tration of  strange  hands ;  and  had  fallen  into  Mrs.  Har- 
bour's bosom  on  her  late  return,  weeping  loudly  for  relief 
after  the  long  tension  of  his  resistance.  Sally  Tracy  had 
in  her  nature  the  growing-pains  of  the  bully,  and  remem- 
bered against  him  the  impotence  to  which  her  short  spell 


22  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

of  management  had  been  reduced.  Now,  however,  Tris- 
tram's promise  of  goodness  extended  even  to  an  engage- 
ment that  Sally  should  do  the  necessaries  of  his  toilet. 
Mrs.  Harbour  relinquished  him  with  a  few  parting  in- 
junctions, and  the  child  watched  her  till  out  of  sight 
round  the  corner  of  the  lane. 

Sally  chose  for  a  beginning  to  be  nice  to  him,  inviting 
his  company  on  her  evening  search  for  eggs  among  the 
farm  out-buildings ;  and  the  small,  willing  body  followed 
her  blissfully  about,  peeping  behind  ladders  and  boards, 
and  under  piles  of  farm-implements,  in  huge  content  over 
being  made  useful.  He  found  two  eggs  himself  in  a  spot 
which  she  had  overlooked ;  and  her  apron  being  heavy, 
she  allowed  him  to  carry  them.  He  held  them  as  care- 
fully as  if  they  had  been  chickens,  and  with  small  regard 
for  anything  else,  followed  her  about  with  the  tremulous 
enthusiasm  of  a  child  when  it  feels  itself  emphatically 
good. 

Into  a  dark  corner  went  Sally,  peering  for  spoil.  Com- 
ing too  closely  behind  with  no  eyes  but  for  what  he  held, 
Tristram  set  foot  on  a  nest  hidden  among  straw.  At 
sight  of  three  fair  yokes  spilled  ruinously  from  cracked 
egg-shells,  away  went  his  heart  into  his  boots ;  he  cried 
out  on  himself  in  sheer  dismay  over  so  deplorable  a  mis- 
hap. Could  Sally  have  trounced  him  on  the  spot,  or 
shaken  the  breath  out  of  his  body  as  he  deserved,  her 
temper  had  been  relieved ;  but  her  lapful  of  eggs  was  in 
the  way.  To  give  vent  to  her  feelings  she  let  her  tongue 
go,  and  assailed  him  in  venomous  words. 

Tristram  heard  the  dread  arm  of  the  Law  invoked ; 
was  assured  in  all  seriousness  that  a  policeman  should 
be  fetched  that  very  night  to  take  him  away  to  the  town- 
gaol.  "  No,  no !  "  the  child  protested ;  his  voice  rose  up 
in  a  wail  and  hung  ready  to  expend  itself  in  weeping. 
"  But  I  say  yes  !  "  retorted  Sally  ;  "  you  wait  till  I've  taken 


OUT    OF    A    MARE'S    NEST  23 

all  the  eggs  in,  then  see !  And  it'll  be  handcuffs  as  well  if 
you  go  dropping  those  other  two."  He  stretched  them  out 
to  her  in  terror  lest  the  thing  should  happen ;  but  now  she 
would  not  do  him  the  bare  kindness  of  taking  them  from 
him.  She  shot  at  him  another  threatening  look,  and  re- 
turned to  her  occupation,  little  knowing  how  hard  a  blow 
she  had  already  struck.  As  for  Tristram,  wherever  she 
went,  he  followed  her  about  mutely ;  in  the  gathering  dusk 
of  the  day's  end  he  saw  a  Robin  the  Bobbin  of  real  flesh 
and  blood  waiting  for  him,  a  vision  which  had  not  the  ex- 
altation of  imaginary  horrors. 

For  a  time,  fearing  the  greater  desolation  of  solitude, 
he  clung  to  his  persecutor ;  while  she,  seeing  what  effect 
her  words  had,  started  to  harp  once  more  upon  the  terrors 
she  had  conjured.  Then  the  fear  of  being  put  to  bed  by 
her,  there  to  wait  till  the  Law's  arm  should  reach  out  and 
claim  him,  became  once  more  a  mastering  horror,  and  he 
set  to  planning  a  hiding-place  for  himself  till  Mrs.  Har- 
bour's return.  Sally  spied  legs  beginning  to  lag,  and  this 
hint  of  old  insubordination  jogged  her  to  fresh  cruelty. 
Happily  to  her  purpose  she  found  waiting  at  the  thresh- 
old, when  she  brought  in  her  takings,  a  bullock-eyed 
youth  who  had  begun  loutishly  to  seek  her  favour,  and  to 
carry  on  with  her  in  the  long  summer  evenings  an  incip- 
ient and  desultory  courtship.  He  came  now  to  invite  her 
to  a  walk  in  the  lanes. 

Sally,  having  Tristram  on  hand,  could  not  well  leave 
him  and  go ;  she  suggested,  therefore,  as  a  thing  of  sound 
sense,  that  they  should  set  off  and  meet  the  policeman,  so 
as  to  save  him  one  half  of  the  journey.  The  bullock-eyed 
youth,  told  how  matters  stood,  grunted  ominously,  and 
guessed  he  knew  a  bit  of  road  where  they  would  be  cer- 
tain to  meet  him.  Tristram  had  not  a  word  to  say  against 
it ;  in  the  presence  of  this  new  enemy  his  spirit  died  ut- 
terly, and  he  went  as  a  lamb  to  the  slaughter,  feeling  but 


24  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

a  slight  alleviation  of  his  distress,  when  for  a  while  they 
ignored  him  to  talk  of  their  own  affairs. 

The  last  bands  of  level  sunlight  were  casting  themselves 
through  high  hedges  on  to  opposing  slopes  of  pasture, 
when  they  came  to  the  division  of  roads  which  Sally's 
follower  had  spoken  of.  There,  on  the  angular  grass- 
plot  which  the  trisecting  traffic  spared,  for  lack  of  other 
employment  they  turned  their  idle  minds  once  more  to 
Tristram's  discomfiture.  When  the  girl  dropped  her 
threats  from  dull-witted  weariness,  her  swain,  to  flatter 
her,  took  up  the  tale ;  he  pictured  the  gaol,  thumbing  its 
horrors  in  clumsy  fashion,  but  effectively  enough  for  a 
child's  imagination. 

Tristram  had  at  last  reached  that  point  of  panic  when 
to  be  desperately  brave  or  cowardly  becomes  equally  pos- 
sible. Boots  and  the  leathery  creak  of  corduroys  sounded 
along  the  lane ;  farm-hands  whom  the  child  had  come  to 
know  from  their  nightly  passings  were  returning  after 
work  in  the  fields.  He  rose  to  his  feet  with  determination, 
and  no  doubt  in  a  visibly  scared  way,  but  without  a  word 
said,  pushed  his  hand  into  the  fist  of  the  first  he  could 
get  to. 

The  two  on  the  grass-patch  called  to  him  to  come  back  ; 
Tristram  tightened  his  clasp,  and  the  man  getting  a  rough 
comprehension  of  his  plight,  turned  and  let  go  some  rough 
words  on  the  pair  of  them.  His  beneficent  oaths  flew 
with  sufficient  moral  weight  to  strike  cowardice  into  the 
culprits ;  they  made  no  struggle  for  the  possession  of 
Tristram,  and  the  child  went  off  with  his  new-found  pro- 
tector, forgetting  almost  in  his  sudden  relief  the  terror 
that  still  lay  ahead.  When  they  were  come  to  the  two 
cottages,  his  companion  paused,  and  was  for  letting  the 
boy  go  at  what  he  judged  must  be  his  intended  destina- 
tion. But  the  place  still  looked  empty,  and  Tristram 
feared  to  be  left  where  the  others  might  return  and  find 


OUT    OF    A    MARE'S    NEST  25 

him.  So,  to  friendly  enquiries,  he  replied  stoutly  that  he 
meant  to  go  on  with  them  to  the  farm,  there  to  meet  Mrs. 
Nannie  as  she  returned ;  and  the  man  was  quite  satisfied. 

Within  the  rickyard  from  a  dark  corner  of  the  cart- 
shed,  he  watched  the  waggons  housing  for  the  night, 
and  began  to  be  comfortably  assured  that  no  policeman 
would  come  to  look  for  him  there.  He  thought  to  be 
safe  at  least  until  the  return  of  Mrs.  Harbour,  whom  he 
would  see  as  she  went  by  up  the  road.  Stepping  more 
and  more  into  the  shade,  he  was  presently  forgotten  by 
the  men  busy  over  the  wind-up  of  their  work :  before  the 
rick-stands  had  become  wholly  frocked  in  the  shadows 
of  approaching  night  he  found  himself  left  alone.  But 
in  a  little  while  the  comfort  of  solitude  was  devoured  by 
the  increasing  dusk,  and  the  influences  of  an  hour  impres- 
sive to  a  child's  fears ;  limb-bound  he  had  not  strength 
or  will  to  return  alone  up  the  darkening  lane.  Yonder, 
or  still  more  when  the  cottages  were  reached,  he  might 
find  the  dreaded  handcuffs  lying  in  wait  for  him,  and 
he  realised,  with  a  chilly  dread  of  being  altogether  for- 
gotten, that  there  he  must  stay  on  till  he  was  called  for. 

A  child  in  distress  waits  upon  many  hopes,  and  is  very 
slow  in  letting  each  one  go  by.  For  a  long  time  Tristram 
hoped  that  his  Nan-nan  would  come  here  and  find  him. 
He  doubted  whether  he  had  kept  his  promise  to  her,  or 
been  good  at  all ;  but  he  had  reached  so  low  a  stage  of 
fear  that  an  honest  scolding  from  a  familiar  tongue  would 
be  welcome  to  him.  Mrs.  Nannie's  beneficence  shone  to 
him  palely  like  the  beginning  of  evening's  star.  Was  it 
not  to  her  bed  that  he  crept  out  of  the  way  of  evil  dreams  ? 
In  fevered  wakefulness  also  it  was  her  bosom  that  had 
soothed  him,  and  often  over  wasp-stings  and  other  evils 
of  life  her  mitigating  influence  had  been  displayed.  In 
his  comfortlessness  he  longed  for  her,  but  with  the  delay 
longing  had  grown  sad ;  there  was  no  radiant  hope  in  it 


26  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

now.  Pitted  against  the  terrors  that  were  pressing 
against  him  even  Nan-nan  might  prove  no  sure  tower 
of  defence. 

When  darkness  in  its  full  degree  had  settled  over  his 
hiding-place,  he  became  so  dispirited  that  he  had  a  mind 
to  cry  out  to  the  next  footstep  that  went  by.  Yet  when 
some  undetermined  wayfarer  came  down  the  road  and 
halted  to  peer  in  over  the  rickyard  gate,  he  found  all  at 
once  that  even  the  courage  to  cry  out  for  succour  had 
been  wrung  out  of  him.  As  soon  as  the  intruder  was 
gone  and  he  could  feel  himself  safe  from  observation,  to 
make  concealment  doubly  sure  he  climbed  up  into  the 
waggon  by  which  he  had  been  standing,  and  finding  it 
thickly  stowed  with  sacks,  crept  into  a  hollow  corner 
where  lay  some  straw.  There  he  curled  himself  into  a 
tight  ball,  and  began  wearily  to  cogitate  whether,  when 
light  came  to  release  him,  he  would  not  go  boldly  ahead, 
and,  from  certain  peril  to  a  chance  of  safety,  turn  runa- 
way. He  remembered  with  soft  affection  that  somewhere 
in  the  world  was  his  Aunt  Doris,  the  fair  keystone  of 
dreams  only  a  few  hours  old,  living,  if  he  could  only 
know  in  what  direction  to  look  for  her,  not  more  than 
an  hour's  journey  from  where  he  was.  Thinking  of  her 
so  near  to  hand,  and  of  the  probability  of  finding  her  if 
he  kept  straight  along  the  one  road  he  knew,  he  let  his 
eyes  close  on  the  saddest  day's  end  of  his  whole  life ;  and 
it  was  with  no  evil  dreams  to  break  the  completeness  of 
the  relief  that  mild-handed  sleep  at  last  stole  in  on  him, 
and  let  her  balm  soak  through  the  pores  of  his  tired 
faculties. 


CHAPTER   IV 

FOLLY    LEADS    TO    WISDOM 

■\*7HEN  he  awoke  it  was  with  an  apprehension  of 
sound  which  had  grown  customary  to  him  dur- 
ing sleep.  The  waggon  was  in  forward  motion,  and 
through  all  its  boards  and  beams,  was  grumbling  and 
exclaiming  at  the  unevenness  of  the  way ;  the  sudden  jolt- 
ing of  a  patch  of  rough  road-mendings  had  shaken  Tris- 
tram back  to  consciousness.  Overhead  were  vanishings 
of  starlight ;  and  an  atmosphere,  grey  within  grey,  lifting 
itself  slowly  back  toward  life,  told  of  an  hour  altogether 
unusual  and  strange. 

Presently,  as  the  waggon  eased  from  the  toil  of  its 
ascent  into  level  going  along  a  brief  ridge  of  hill,  he 
became  convinced  of  new  daylight:  like  the  splinter  of 
straw  thrust  through  a  partition  into  the  pent  space  where 
he  lay,  joggled  a  ray  of  sunbeam.  The  child  peered  out ; 
in  amazement  he  found  himself  nowhere  at  all ;  all  the 
short  landmarks  of  his  life  had  disappeared,  and  so  far 
as  his  knowledge  went,  he  was  as  much  adrift  as  a  casta- 
way with  no  horizon  on  all  sides  save  dead  levels  of 
water. 

On  the  foot-board  against  the  partition  where  he  leaned, 
sat  a  carter  with  feet  dangling  over  the  shaft.  Tristram, 
by  putting  his  hand  through  the  railed  side  of  the  wag- 
gon, could  have  touched  the  man's  coat.  When,  pres- 
ently, he  summoned  up  courage  to  do  so,  off  jumped  the 

27 


28  A     MODERN    ANTAEUS 

fellow  into  the  road :  mere  coincidence ;  yet  the  action  set 
Tristram's  blood  tingling  at  the  dread  of  unfriendly  dis- 
covery in  so  unexplainable  a  position,  and  fixed  him  in  a 
determination  not  to  reveal  himself.  The  cart  still  jogged 
on,  the  man  walked  by  its  side,  and  Tristram  lay  within, 
feeling  very  chill  and  cramped  after  his  hard  night's 
lodging. 

Maybe  more  than  an  hour  had  elapsed  when  the  carter 
drew  up  before  a  wayside  inn,  and  went  round  to  the  back 
to  find  whether  any  one  were  astir  at  that  early  hour. 
Tristram  pushed  up  his  head  from  between  the  sacks 
and  looked  out.  In  another  moment  he  had  stepped 
across  on  to  the  footboard,  and  was  scrambling  his  way 
to  ground.  Delightful  firm  earth  was  under  him;  he 
tottered  on  feet  that  had  grown  numb  from  constraint. 
All  at  once  a  spaniel  from  the  inn-yard  spied  him  and 
gave  tongue.  It  was  the  mere  bully-ragging  of  habitual 
watchfulness,  but  enough  to  send  Tristram  bolting  down 
the  road ;  nor  did  he  halt  till  he  had  scrambled  through 
a  gap  and  put  the  cover  of  a  small  plantation  between 
himself  and  the  highway.  When  he  had  attained  to  that 
degree  of  safety,  wonder  began  what  he  was  to  do  next. 
He  feared  to  go  back  to  the  road  till  the  waggon  had 
passed  by ;  having  now  an  absurd  feeling  that  the  carter 
would,  at  sight  of  him,  know  how  he  had  come,  and  forth- 
with lay  hands  on  him  as  a  vagabond  and  trespasser.  So 
to  wile  away  the  time  till  the  track  for  the  following  of 
Aunt  Doris  should  be  free,  he  climbed  up  the  slope  of  the 
plantation,  that  he  might  from  the  higher  ground  find 
what  sort  of  country  lay  round  him. 

In  the  still  morning  air  he  heard  presently  the  sound 
of  a  whet-stone  upon  a  scythe :  somewhere  near  late  hay- 
cutting  must  be  going  on.  He  followed  out  the  sound 
till  it  brought  him  through  an  upper  edge  of  coppice  to 
the  brink  of  a  bare  field,  over  which  a  figure  was  stepping 


FOLLY    LEADS    TO    WISDOM  29 

methodically  under  the  pure  light  of  early  day.  Tristram 
stayed  to  watch  within  cover  of  the  plantation.  The  man 
scythed,  but  he  scythed  ill;  along  his  track  lay  jagged 
edges  and  uncut  tufts,  and  his  strokes  lacked  confidence 
and  breadth.  Now  and  again  he  gave  a  sanguine  flourish, 
and  was  pulled  up  as  the  point  of  his  implement  skegged 
the  turf.  When  this  happened,  he  did  not  use  the  lan- 
guage of  ordinary  men :  he  said,  "  Dear,  dear !  "  in  a  soft, 
grieved  voice,  and  went  over  the  piece  he  had  bungled 
with  slow  and  painstaking  humility. 

Tristram  had  enough  knowledge  to  tell  him  that  here 
was  no  farm-hand.  It  was  a  small  elderly  figure,  dressed 
in  clothes  of  a  peculiar  grey,  and  wearing  a  bright  blue 
tie;  the  coat  which  had  been  taken  off  lay  neatly  folded 
on  a  shorn  space  of  ground  hard  by.  He  noticed  also 
that  one  of  the  hands  which  wrestled  with  the  scythe  wore 
a  ring  with  a  green  stone  in  it.  Bold  curiosity  quickened ; 
the  thought  grew  formed,  "  I  will  go  and  let  him  see  that 
I  am  looking  at  him ;  then  he  will  speak  to  me."  It  was 
the  child's  most  diplomatic  way  of  securing  an  introduc- 
tion. He  stepped  cautiously  to  the  adventure,  with  his 
eye  upon  the  swing  of  the  scythe,  till  he  came  within 
the  mower's  sphere  of  vision.  The  movement  stopped ; 
the  man  stood  up,  and  saw  a  fragile  apparition  of  child- 
hood gravely  standing  within  the  borders  of  his  privacy. 

Tristram  felt  the  inquisition  of  a  clear  blue  eye  per- 
vading his  identity,  and  was  as  much  trapped  as  though 
a  hand  had  been  laid  upon  his  collar.  A  voice  of  gentle 
sprightliness  saluted  him  with  "  Good-morning."  Where 
had  he  sprung  from?  he  was  asked. 

"  I  came  in  a  cart,"  said  the  boy. 

"A  cart?     Not  up  here,"  objected  the  other. 

"  I  ran." 

"  An  entirely  right  thing  to  do !  "  was  the  genial  re- 
sponse.    "  And  where  are  you  for  now?" 


30  A     MODERN    ANTAEUS 

"  I'm  going  to  find  Auntie  Dorrie,"  said  the  boy. 

"  And  '  Auntie  Dorrie  ' ;  where  is  she  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  She's  somewhere  where  I've  been 
once.     I  want  to  go  to  her." 

"  But  are  you  going  to  her  all  alone?  " 

With  a  lip  that  began  to  quiver  Tristram  mumbled 
'  Yes ;  "  adding,  "  Please,  I  don't  want  any  one  else  to 
know !  " 

The  mower  put  down  his  scythe.  "  Where  have  you 
come  from  now  ?  "  he  asked. 

Tristram's  eyes  showed  tears.  "  I  don't  want  to  go 
back  there  at  all !  "  he  pleaded.  "  I  only  want  to  go  to 
Auntie  Dorrie." 

"  Have  no  fear,  you  shall  go  to  her !  But  you  have  not 
yet  told  me  what  your  name  is." 

The  child  became  suspicious  at  the  question,  and  made 
a  beginning  of  reserve.  "  Please,  I  would  rather  not  tell 
you,"  said  he. 

To  that  the  stranger  nodded  in  courteous  agreement, 
and  taking  up  his  fallen  scythe,  wiped  it  meditatively 
with  a  wisp  of  mown  grass.  Presently  he  looked  towards 
the  boy  again.  "  You  seem  tired ;  chilly,  too,  eh  ?  Sit 
down  there  on  my  coat,  then,  while  I  finish  what  I'm 
about.  Wrap  yourself  in  it  and  go  to  sleep  if  you 
like." 

'  I'm  not  tired,"  said  Tristram,  "  I  went  to  sleep  in  the 
cart."  But  he  went  and  curled  himself  down  on  the  coat. 
One  of  his  queer  instincts  was  to  judge  of  people  with 
whom  he  wished  to  make  friends  by  the  smell  of  their  rai- 
ment. Before  altogether  trusting  him  he  wished  to  know 
what  sort  of  smell  this  new  acquaintance  carried  about 
with  him.  A  very  brief  sniff  approved  to  his  judgment 
the  man  he  had  to  deal  with :  the  coat  actually  bore  the 
scent  of  lavender.  He  sat  up  in  full  reassurance  to  watch 
the  scythe  when  it  resumed  its  play ;  and  as  the  other  went 


FOLLY  LEADS  TO  WISDOM    31 

on  working  without  seeming  to  observe  him  at  all,  the 
child  grew  convinced  that  Providence  had  sent  to  him 
here  a  person  altogether  good  and  kind  and  fit  to  be 
trusted. 

Presently,  when  the  stranger  had  finished  a  square,  he 
leaned  his  implement  against  the  fence  and  straightened 
himself  with  a  sigh  of  relief.  Glancing  across  to  Tris- 
tram, "  Little  prince,"  said  he,  "  are  you  hungry  ?  " 

The  child  found  an  explanation  suddenly  supplied  for 
the  gnawing  pain  within  him.  The  world  had  gone  so 
wrong  with  him  in  the  last  twelve  hours,  that  he  had  for- 
gotten to  think  of  its  ordinary  comforts.  Now  with  a 
big  sense  of  injury,  he  confessed  to  have  had  nothing 
since  tea  the  day  before. 

"  Since  tea !  "  cried  his  friend.  "  Why,  you  must  be 
famished !  There's  some  oat-bread  in  that  left-hand 
pocket ;  eat  and  be  filled !  " 

The  boy  munched  his  way  blithely  through  a  hunch  of 
home-made  brown.  The  other,  after  regarding  him  for 
some  time,  put  on  his  coat  with  decision,  and  said,  "  Come 
along  with  me  and  have  some  breakfast." 

Tristram  hesitated,  having  a  conscience  to  purge  of 
offence  against  this  angelic  being  who  accepted  his  exist- 
ence on  such  generous  and  unenquiring  terms.  He  went 
forward  to  give  himself  frankly  up  into  the  custody  of 
a  kindness  which  had  overthrown  his  suspicions.  They 
joined  hands.     "  My  name  is  Trampy,"  said  the  boy. 

"  And  a  very  good  name  too !  "  chuckled  his  companion. 
"  Auntie  Dorrie  is  Trampy  also,  I  suppose?  " 

"  No,  that's  my  name ;  it's  what  she  calls  me." 

"  It  is  not  your  father's,  either?  " 

"  Oh  no !  it's  nobody's  but  mine ;  it  means  Tristram. 
Nan-nan  calls  me  '  Trojer ' ;  but  Tristram  Gavney  is 
what  I  am." 

"  And  which  of  all  these  names  am  I  to  call  you?  " 


$2  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

The  boy's  heart  was  all  up  in  love  and  embraces  for 
this  benign  sending  of  fate,  but  as  yet  he  could  not  utter 
his  feelings.  He  became  garrulous  upon  other  matters; 
his  quick  bird-like  voice  chirruped  and  prattled  by  the 
old  man's  side ;  and  while  susceptible  youth  rippled  a 
tale  concerning  the  simple  facts  of  its  life,  susceptible 
age  bent  flattered  ears  to  listen,  and  thought  much  was 
wonderful  which  was  really  quite  ordinary. 

They  walked  through  long  grass  on  a  short  cut  to  the 
house,  which  could  be  seen  ahead,  bowered  over  by  trees ; 
and  all  the  way  Tristram  ran  breathless  over  names  and 
things,  but  had  not  a  word  to  say  of  the  events  which 
had  brought  him  to  his  present  pass.  "  Tristram  Gavney 
I  am,"  he  repeated;  "I've  been  ill,  but  I'm  well  now. 
Auntie  Dorrie  is  going  to  have  me  to  stay  with  her;  I've 
got  a  letter  from  her  in  my  pocket.  Mother's  away,  be- 
cause she  can't  get  well  over  here ;  she's  got  Marcia  with 
her.  I  remember  Marcia.  Mother  couldn't  take  me 
because  I'm  a  boy  and  too  noisy ;  Marcia's  noisier,  though, 
when  she's  here."  To  an  enquiry  from  his  friend :  "  Oh, 
Marcia?  —  that's  my  sister;  they  used  to  call  us  twins 
once ;  but  I  know  I'm  taller  than  her  now.  Nan-nan  says 
she's  a  tomboy.  Mother  and  father  are  fondest  of  her, 
and  Auntie  Dorrie  is  fondest  of  me;  I'd  rather  have 
Auntie  Dorrie  fond  of  me.  My  father's  rich,  and  that's 
why  he  has  to  be  often  away.  I  don't  remember  him 
much.  When  mother  comes  back  we  shall  all  be  together 
again  and  live  in  a  big  house  because  my  father's  rich. 
Are  you  rich,  too?  " 

"  I  have  more  than  is  good  for  me,  I'm  afraid,"  replied 
his  companion. 

"  Then  why  do  you  have  to  mow  ?  "  asked  Tristram. 
"  It's  only  the  poor  people  who  mow  where  we  are." 

"  The  grass  wants  cutting,  so  I  am  learning  how  to  do 
it.    I  like  to  find  out  how  things  are  done." 


FOLLY    LEADS    TO    WISDOM  33 

"  Then  do  you  want  to  be  a  labourer  really  ?  " 

"  Yes,  a  labourer  really ;  that's  the  best  thing  on 
earth  that  one  can  be." 

"  And  what  are  you  now  ?  " 

"I'm  a  poor  thing  they  call  a  philosopher." 

Tristram  went  back  to  his  own  interests;  he  had  a 
simple  genius  for  happiness:  Life's  primaries  glowed 
under  his  artless  handling,  and  his  listener  did  not  tire. 
A  wonderful  friendship  sprang  up  there  and  then  be- 
tween the  two,  as  they  went  damp-footed  over  dewy 
clover  towards  the  railings  which  hemmed  in  shaven 
and  shorn  turf  and  bright  garden  beds.  Crossing  a 
slight  indentation  of  ground,  Tristram  put  down  his 
foot:  "  Is  there  water  under  there?  "  he  enquired. 

"  No,"  returned  his  companion,  "  it's  only  that  the 
dew  lies  a  little  heavier  there ;  it's  what  comes  at  night 
without  rain." 

"  Is  it  all  down  there,  then  ?  "  asked  the  child. 

The  Sage  took  gentle  pains  to  explain  the  matter. 

Tristram  said :  "  There's  often  water  where  there's 
long  grass ;  once  I  didn't  see  it,  and  I  fell  in."  Had  his 
nurse  been  by  she  would  have  marvelled  to  hear  him 
speak  of  "  once  " ;  but  to  the  child  many  occasions  had 
become  only  one  memory. 

When  they  were  entering  the  house,  at  sight  of  a  man- 
servant, Tristram  drew  back.  '  Is  there  any  policeman 
there  ?  "  he  enquired. 

Friendly  intelligence  grew  enlightened  in  some  small 
degree  as  to  his  disorder.  "  Oh  no,"  said  the  philoso- 
pher. "  I  don't  let  policemen  in  here ;  I've  no 
use  for  them."  He  felt  the  child's  hand  tighten  upon 
his. 

"You  won't  let  them  take  me?" 

His  hand  affirmed  friendship.  "  Indeed  I  won't !  "  he 
responded. 


34  A     MODERN     ANTAEUS 

There  was  silence :  then,  "  I  broke  three  eggs  yester- 
day !  "  said  Tristram. 

"  Does  Auntie  Dorrie  know?  " 

His  answer,  "No;  I  want  to  tell  her!"  was  uttered 
with  wild  eagerness. 

During  breakfast  the  whole  tale  was  told;  and  at  the 
finish,  in  spite  of  those  friendly  eyes,  the  child  had 
grown  white  over  the  telling  of  it.  The  philosopher 
smiled,  and  put  the  law  to  him  with  sage  simplicity  of 
speech.  '  What  you  did  by  accident,"  he  said,  for  a 
wind-up,  "  Miss  silly  Sally  thought  you  had  done  on 
purpose.  Knowing  what  I  know,  not  a  policeman  in  the 
kingdom  would  want  to  touch  you.  Now  I,  too,  keep 
fowls,  and  somebody  has  been  stealing  mine,  for  which 
thing  our  local  policeman  is  a  little  to  blame.  Now,  if 
you  would  like  to  see  a  policeman  scolded,  come  and 
behold  my  biddies  first  while  we  send  for  him,  and  the 
deed  shall  be  done.  Then,  when  I  have  chastened  him, 
you  can  send  word  by  him  to  yours  of  the  mistake  there 
has  been  about  you.  I  myself  will  take  care  that  Miss 
Sally's  mind  gets  put  straight." 

Tristram  listened  with  large  breaths  until  the  last 
shadow  of  doubt  had  been  removed  from  his  under- 
standing ;  once  delivered,  the  rush  of  his  faculties  back 
to  their  wonted  liberty  of  action  would  have  struck 
memorably  on  a  heart  less  tender  than  the  one  now 
open  to  him.  The  Sage,  on  telling  it  afterwards,  made 
note  of  the  sensitive  face  with  sorrow  in  it,  like  that  of 
some  wild  creature  straining  to  be  free ;  and,  suddenly 
finding  itself  so,  giving  in  the  joy  of  its  abandonment, 
a  poignant  indication  of  the  unnatural  anguish  through 
which  it  had  passed.  It  was  only  with  some  reserve 
that  he  allowed  himself  to  speak  of  the  wild  outburst 
of  gratitude  which  a  cruel  contrivance  of  dull  wits  had 
indirectly  won  for  him.  Tristram  fairly  romped  through 
the  rest  of  that  day. 


FOLLY  LEADS  TO  WISDOM    35 

To  the  inn  enquiry  was  sent,  bringing  back  infor- 
mation as  to  the  precise  locality  from  which  Tristram 
and  his  waggon  had  come ;  for  of  names  and  places 
that  could  give  postal  guidance,  Tristram  had  only 
words  of  domestic  usage  in  his  memory,  and  in  his 
pocket  the  letter  bearing  at  its  head  the  Little  Towberry 
address  of  his  Aunt  Doris.  The  charitable  philosopher 
had  the  thought  to  send  two  telegrams  —  one  to  a 
rather  chance  address  for  the  blameless  Nan-nan,  whose 
distracted  condition  needed  no  guessing  on  his  part. 
Before  noon  wires  sped  in  two  directions  comfortable 
tidings  of  the  small  tramp's  safety,  and  offer  of  a  wel- 
come to  any  friend  who  might  come  to  claim  him. 

An  answer  came  with  dispatch  that  his  Aunt  Doris 
was  already  flying  to  receive  him,  roundabout,  but  with  all 
speed  possible.  Rich  apologies  for  the  causing  of  trouble 
followed ;  the  philosopher  smiled  at  the  pretty  wording 
of  them,  and  reckoned  ruefully  the  few  short  hours  left 
to  him  of  the  small  creature  who  now  gambolled  una- 
bashed through  the  ordered  privacy  of  his  domain. 

The  comfort  when  it  came  to  Mrs.  Harbour  was 
badly  needed ;  her  poor  humiliated  soul  lay  in  a  state  of 
wreck  and  hot  fiery  indignation.  The  blow  dealt  to  her 
prestige  was  felt  by  that  most  loyal  old  body  amid  her 
shrewdest  grief.  Sally  had  confessed  to  a  part  at  least 
of  her  wickedness;  and  Mrs.  Nannie,  wringing  heart 
and  hands  over  the  dimly  understood  sufferings  of  her 
babe,  shut  her  door  at  once  and  for  ever  against  her 
neighbours,  being  of  that  charity  which  in  most  cases  is 
extreme,  but  has  its  moments  of  becoming  adamant. 
Only  when,  some  days  later,  she  clasped  Tristram  once 
more  to  her  bosom,  and,  to  the  child's  tender  astonish- 
ment, lifting  up  her  voice,  wept  over  him,  did  any  degree 
of  comfort  return  to  her.  Finding  that  her  babe  loved 
her  as  of  old,  she  was  able  at  last  to  forgive  herself  the 
thing  for  which  nobody  else  blamed  her. 


36  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

Miss  Doris  Foley,  arriving  late  in  the  afternoon,  found 
Tristram  on  terms  of  intimacy  with  an  elderly  gentle- 
man of  homely  looks,  bearing  a  distinguished  name. 
She  fluttered  into  apologetic  speeches,  holding  the  child 
clasped  in  her  arms ;  for  the  rapture  at  having  hold  of 
her  was  very  great,  and  not  easy  to  be  assuaged. 

"You  are  fond  of  him?"  smiled  the  celebrity,  when 
the  child  had  been  packed  out  of  the  room  for  the  two 
to  talk  over  his  escapade. 

"  Oh,  am  I  not!  "  cried  the  lady,  hugging  the  memory 
of  but  just  finished   endearments. 

'  I  have  spent  the  day  turning  him  inside  out,  while 
we  awaited  your  coming,"  said  the  Sage.  "  'Tis  a  dear 
laddie,  promising  to  have  a  shapely  mind  if  life  and 
time  will  allow." 

"  Oh,  he  is  healthy !  "  she  made  anxious  protest. 

'  Yes  ?  "  admitted  the  other  with  interrogation.  "  But 
things  affect  him  curiously.  Youth  in  health  ought  not 
to  have  nerves  like  that.  He  has  had  a  fright;  and  it 
is  as  if  he  had  had  an  illness.  Sane  I  should  certainly 
call  him ;  but  all  his  nature  is  quick  to  be  up  and  off  in 
alarms  and  excursions.  Life  exhausts  him.  You  will 
see  him  sleeping  like  a  top  to-night  —  I  wish  it  could 
be  here,  for  I  am  loth  to  lose  him."  He  returned  to  the 
thought  presently,  saying,  "  Could  I  prevail  upon  you 
at  no  notice  to  accept  an  old  bachelor's  invitation  for  the 
night?  I  have  a  home-made  housekeeper  very  much 
at  your  service." 

The  lady  shook  her  head,  smiling;  the  honour  of  it 
alarmed  her.  Her  eyes  beamed  softly  in  gratitude  as 
she  pressed  her  refusal ;  for  here  indeed  was  a  wonder- 
ful new  addition  to  Tristram's  conquests.  She  was 
proud  of  her  boy,  and  saw  that  she  might  babble  of 
him.  Two  enthusiasts  talked,  dove-tailing  their  eager 
sentences ;  he  had  only  a  day's  doings  to  retail  —  he  gave 
it  full  of  laughter;  she,  a  short  lifetime. 


FOLLY    LEADS     TO    WISDOM  37 

"  Oh,  excellent,  excellent !  "  cried  he,  watching  how 
devotion  in  her  was  balanced  by  insight  and  roguish 
management  of  an  innocent  sinner;  "  his  aunt  is  worthy 
of  him !  " 

"  Oh,  high  praise !  "  said  she ;  "  may  I  live  to  deserve 
it!" 

"  Only  let  him  live  his  life  confidently,  and  do  you 
keep  yourself  in  his  confidence ;  he  will  be  safe  then. 
Be  the  leash  which  he  will  never  have  to  be  aware  of. 
Your  name  should  be  Cynthia,  I  think;  you  remember 
the  poem :  — 

'  Oh,  huntress  soul,  with  leash  and  thong, 
Keep  and  control  these  hands  and  feet! '  — 

and  the  rest;  that  is  your  task — a  happy  one,  I  think  it." 
When  she  was  starting  to  carry  her  precious  handful 
away  with  her,  the  Sage  said,  "  If  he  should  ever  ask  to 
come  and  see  me  again,  do  not  be  afraid  of  troubling 
me ;  let  him  come !  I  like  to  have  a  will-o'-the-wisp 
dancing  over  my  old  bones."  He  gave  his  hand  to 
Tristram  gravely  upon  the  moment  of  parting;  and  all 
at  once  the  child  became  shy  and  constrained,  finding 
their  affectionate  union  disturbed.  "  It  seems  you  keep 
them  all  for  your  aunt  now !  "  smiled  his  host,  wickedly 
laying  the  burden  upon  him.  The  child's  confidence 
came  back  at  a  rush.  "  Yes,  yes !  Only  don't  choke 
me!  "  protested  the  old  man,  depositing  him  in  the  car- 
riage by  the  side  of  his  lady-love. 

Even  upon  the  way  Tristram  slept  well,  snuggling 
closely  into  the  warmth  of  that  adored  companionship ; 
nor  had  he  full  consciousness  again  until,  late  the  next 
morning,  he  woke  to  find  Marcia  prancing  in  night- 
gown attire,  upon  his  bed,  and  calling  out  to  him  in 
funny  French  ways  of  speech.  In  five  minutes  they 
ceased  to  be  strangers,  and  Tristram  was  realising  his 


38  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

sudden  growth  that  made  him,  at  least  in  physical 
things,  the  leader,  where  before  he  had  only  been  the 
follower.  The  physical  race  between  them  was  already 
over ;  but  it  was  to  be  years  before  Marcia  lost  her 
mental  supremacy. 

Among  the  elders  talk  went  chiefly  about  Tristram's 
capture  of  a  splendid  celebrity,  whose  fame  ran  to  the 
ends  of  the  earth,  but  whose  door  was  shut  so  closely 
against  the  ordinary  inroads  of  society.  Word  of  it 
went  to  Mrs.  Gavney,  still  gathering  up  health  in  foreign 
parts,  and  unable  as  yet  to  travel ;  and  she,  writing 
almost  as  a  stranger,  enquired  wistfully  about  this  inde- 
finable charm  which  drew  people  toward  the  younger  of 
her  two  offsprings.  Her  letters  failed  not  every  week 
to  bring  from  her  sister  Doris  replies  in  a  devout  strain ; 
for  to  that  lady  the  famous  man's  friendship,  so  readily 
accorded,  was  a  crowning  proof,  if  any  were  needed, 
that  her  boy  was  all  that  she  declared  of  him. 

And  while  Tristram's  scape-grace  charms  had  drawn 
to  him  this  large  conquest,  record  should  not  be  missed 
of  homage  rendered  from  a  much  humbler  quarter.  The 
new  home  to  which  he  was  soon  going  seemed  too  far 
away  for  the  fond  ageing  bosom  that  had  nursed  him. 
After  their  last  parting  Mrs.  Harbour's  heart-strings 
were  strained  to  cracking  point ;  also  by  asperity  of 
demeanour  she  had  made  herself  neighbourless.  So  one 
day  she  moved  herself  and  her  few  belongings  into  a 
green  court,  which  lay  behind  the  main  street  of  Bern- 
bridge,  the  post-town  two  miles  distant  from  Tristram's 
new  home.  And  there,  shaping  garments  of  a  rather 
nondescript  cut,  she  tailored  for  him  till  the  convention 
of  school-days  rescued  him  from  her  amorous  stitchings. 
Her  woollens  and  knittings  followed  him  through  life, 
and  the  last  garment  she  worked  for  him  was  made 
when  her  eyes  were  nearly  as  blind  as  Love's  own,  and 
was  never  seen  by  him. 


CHAPTER  V 

REAL    CHARACTERS   AND   FICTITIOUS    PERSONS 

rT",HE  reader  will  by  this  time  be  perceiving  that 
what  is  to  be  told  here  is  history  and  not  fiction. 
A  hero  of  romance  at  five  or  six  years  of  age  it  not  too 
young  to  start  on  a  life  of  manly  adventure.  In  the 
"  Rule  Britannia "  school  of  fiction  we  find  dauntless 
midshipmites  showing  their  first  teeth  to  an  affrighted 
foe,  and  shouting  their  country's  war-cries  in  treble 
tones.  Given  a  hero  who,  before  his  seventh  year,  has 
broken  from  leading  strings  and  cleared  himself  for 
action  and  a  life  of  "  over  the  hills  and  far  away,"  no 
writer  of  fiction  will  sacrifice  the  situation  and  return 
him  the  very  next  day  to  the  dull  rounds  of  domesticity. 

Here,  however,  are  we  already  upon  anti-climax:  life 
takes  the  Tramp  back  almost  to  the  point  whence  he 
first  started.  He  comes,  with  but  a  slight  shift  of  local- 
ity, to  his  new  home,  a  house  set  in  terraced  grounds, 
overlooking  a  broad  valley  whose  woody  knolls  and 
rising  pasture-lands  shut  away  from  view  the  not  far 
distant  market-town  of  Bembridge.  Over  a  broad  roll 
of  hill  westward  hang  the  dark  edges  of  Randogger, 
wood-lands  which  will  play  a  deep  part  in  the  story  to 
follow.  Below  them  run  on  a  lower  level  the  ups  and 
downs  of  a  rich  arable  tract  whose  well-clipped  boun- 
daries witness  by  common  features  to  a  single  owner- 
ship. 

Between  Hill  Alwyn,  the  "  place  "  of  the  locality,  and 

39 


4o  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

Little  Alwyn  and  Long  Alwyn,  its  rural  appendages, 
there  was  no  house  of  standing  to  disturb  the  social 
seclusion  of  the  district,  save  the  one  in  which  the 
Gavneys  now  found  themselves.  All  round  lay  a  delec- 
table country,  whose  only  drawback  was  the  privacy 
which  stood  erected  across  so  many  by-ways  attractive 
to  the  eye,  a  thing  altogether  inconvenient  to  one  in 
whom  ere  long  the  lust  of  the  eye  was  to  become  the 
ruling  passion.  How  he  adapted  himself  to  those  im- 
pediments will  be  seen  later. 

The  Gavney  family  was  still  waiting  for  the  maternal 
presence  to  make  it  complete.  Marcia  talked  much  to 
Tristram  of  their  mother  in  those  days,  and  was  restless 
for  the  day  when  she  might  show  to  each  other  the  two 
between  whom,  from  more  recent  intercourse,  she  felt 
herself  in  a  way  the  connecting  link.  Being  jealous  for 
Tristram  to  feel  as  she  did,  she  raged  to  find  him  so 
satisfied  with  his  Aunt  Doris.  She  averred  that  their 
mother  was  far  more  beautiful :  he  as  stoutly  denied  it. 
It  was  their  continual  and  long-standing  quarrel. 

Mr.  Gavney  appeared  among  them  only  at  a  late  hour 
of  the  day  or  for  brief  week-ends.  Preoccupied  with 
affairs  and  fretted  by  the  absence  of  his  wife,  he  took 
but  small  pleasure  in  the  new  home  and  its  surround- 
ing's. In  those  first  days  the  children  came  little  into 
his  society.  Marcia,  who  claimed  proprietary  rights 
over  him  until  her  mother's  return,  knew  him  best  by 
the  patterns  upon  his  waistcoats,  against  which  she 
would  compulsorily  come  to  be  nursed.  Tristram,  on 
such  occasions,  would  cuddle  down  into  another  lap 
spread  open  to  him  ;  and  the  two  children  would  corre- 
spond silently  by  eye-signal,  while  the  talk  of  the  elders 
went  on  over  their  heads. 

Doris    Foley   assured   her   brother-in-law   in    reply   to 
his  enquiries  that  she  was  not  dull ;  her  visit  to  install 


REAL    CHARACTERS  41 

and  look  after  the  new  menage  she  declared  to  he  a 
pleasure. 

"  But  society  —  you  get  none.  Until  we  have  Anna 
here,  naturally  the  neighbourhood  delays." 

"  Oh,  people  from  Bembridge  are  calling." 

"  Ah,  yes ;  that  one  would  expect.  But  there  is  Lady 
Petwyn."  His  voice  paused  interrogatively  over  the 
name. 

"  Lady  Petwyn  has  not  called,"  said  his  sister-in-law. 

"  No :  as  I  say ;  she  waits,  I  have  no  doubt,  to  hear  of 
Anna's  return." 

"  I  should  be  sorry  if  she  did  otherwise,"  said  his 
companion,  and  started  to  draw  a  blithe  picture  of  her 
doinsrs  with  the  two  children. 

He  objected  that  it  was  time  now  for  them  to  be 
under  regular  tuition.  She  pleaded  the  beauty  of  the 
summer  days  for  a  respite,  adding,  "  I  assure  you  they 
are  learning;  every  day  I  teach  them  something."  But 
she  acquiesced  when  the  date  for  a  new  order  of  things 
was  fixed  upon.  "  Only  three  weeks  more!  "  she  sighed, 
"  then  we  will  go  picnicking  to-morrow !  " 

They  visited  the  great  Randoggers,  and  came  home 
in  a  violent  fall  of  the  weather,  which,  when  it  was  over, 
seemed  to  have  carried  green-hearted  summer  away 
with  it,  and  to  have  started  the  withering  autumnal  tints. 
A  few  days  later  Mr.  Gavney  was  hurrying  away  to 
bring  his  wife  back  from  the  South,  to  whom  went  also 
a  letter  from  Doris,  worded  with  welcome,  and  touching 
on  the  changes  her  sister  would  find,  coming  after  long 
absence  to  new  home  and  surroundings. 

"  Marcia,"  wrote  her  correspondent,  "  you  will  find  all 
on  tiptoe;  absence  stiffens  her  affections.  She  is  abso- 
lutely dogged :  loves  you  and  the  Tramp,  and,  I  believe, 
no  other  thing.  Just  as  she  had  hankerings  after  him 
when  abroad  with  us,  so  now  she  has  hankerings  after 


42  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

you,  and  is  jealously  striving  to  work  up  Trampy  to  the 
same  state.  As  for  him,  you  will  have  for  a  time  not  to 
be  jealous  of  me:  he  has  been  making  much  of  me —  for 
lack  of  you,  and  his  small  heart-strings  are  all  entangled ; 
you  will  get  them  back  quickly  enough,  and  then  /  shall 
be  desolate. 

"  He  came  upon  me  the  other  day  with  my  hair  down. 
'  Oh,  Auntie  Dorrie,  how  beautiful  you  are !  '  he  cried. 
It's  a  real  romance;  the  wee  one  was  almost  in  tears. 
He  makes  me  sing  to  him,  too,  on  all  occasions  —  the 
other  day  for  an  hour  in  the  rain,  under  dripping  boughs. 
I  must  tell  you  about  that,  for  it  connects  with  a  queer 
notion  that  has  got  into  my  head  about  him.  There's 
a  knowingness,  a  sort  of  weather-cock  wisdom  he  has, 
which  is  almost  uncanny :  it  came  out  comically  the  very 
day  I  refer  to.  We  were  off  on  a  picnicking  jaunt,  under 
a  blue  sky,  which  seemed  to  have  no  end  to  it.  Just  at 
the  start  Trampy  was  missing.  I  am  never  for  waiting, 
so  I  whistled  him  and  went  on.  Presently  he  comes 
after,  dragging  a  great  water-proof,  for  me,  if  you 
please,  and  would  bring  it !  I  laughed  at  him  ;  but  before 
the  clay's  end,  we  were  all  under  it,  and  thankful  for  the 
shelter. 

"  And  that's  the  creature  who  himself  likes  to  get  wet! 
My  Nannette  remembers  where  in  the  world  he  was 
during  the  insufferable  heat  and  drought  of  that  one 
summer  she  and  I  spent  in  France ;  how  you  lay  and 
gasped  for  air  so  many  weary  hours  of  each  day;  till  one 
evening  late  the  heavens  were  moved,  and  you  thanked 
God  and  got  to  bed  in  haste,  while  Pierre  rode  off  for 
the  doctor  through  a  night  loud  with  rain.  The  last 
thing  you  said  to  me  was,  '  Is  it  raining  still?' 

'  It  never  stopped  all  that  night.  I  remember  also 
how  on  his  return  Pierre  waited  drenched  for  two  whole 
hours  in  order  to  have  safe  news  of  you,  before  going  off 


REAL    CHARACTERS  43 

to  his  own  home.  Poor  people  take  to  you,  my  dear, 
and  your  boy  has  the  same  gift  of  winning  them;  but 
he  tramps  over  all  sorts  and  conditions;  even  birth  and 
intellect  are  not  safe  from  the  spell  of  him.  A  propos: 
I  prophecy  that  Lady  Petwyn  will  come  calling  on  him 
some  day:  she  has  not  yet  done  so  on  me,  your  proxy. 
Beresford  is  alarming  himself  on  the  subject.  You  know 
how,  if  he  gets  a  thing  on  his  mind,  he  fusses  over  it. 
Better  persuade  him  you  want  no  formidable  callers.  I 
hear  she  is  a  crank,  of  aldermanic  origin,  no  aristocrat  — 
married  a  bad  specimen  of  the  breed,  and  disembarrassed 
the  estates,  which  have  now  become  hers.  She  is  a 
recently  confirmed  widow,  and,  they  say,  a  jubilant  one; 
walks  lame,  rides  in  defiance  of  orders :  there  is  all  I 
know  about  her." 

A  letter  which  touched  lightly  over  the  many  interests 
of  the  new  neighbourhood,  wound  up  with  a  return  to 
family  topics,  and  a  last  mention  of  the  two  children. 
"  They  are  sitting  together  now  on  the  terrace  steps," 
she  wrote,  "  hatching  mischief,  by  the  look  of  them, 
which  will  probably  mean  mud-heaps  for  me  before  bed- 
time.    Their  little  back-views  send  you  much  love." 

Among  the  thick  of  her  correspondence  Doris  Foley 
had  before  her  eyes  as  she  wrote  fresh  proof  of  Tris- 
tram's conquest  of  "  intellect."  Less  than  a  month's 
waiting  had  brought  from  the  Sage  a  letter,  whimsically 
pathetic,  begging  not  to  be  dropped.  Naming  the 
Tramp,  it  was  apparent  he  meant  both.  She  burned 
humbly  in  reply  to  do  him  the  honours  of  her  own  house, 
as  soon  as  ever  she  could  return  to  Little  Towberry. 
"  Whenever  you  can  come,  the  boy  shall  be  with  me," 
she  wrote,  and  begged  for  a  day  to  be  named.  Looking 
out,  she  saw  the  two  small  back-views  still  in  position, 
and  wondered  what  the  plot  could  be  which  kept  them 
so  long  sedentary. 


44  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

Tristram  and  Marcia  were  at  the  moment  deep  in  a 
comparison  of  experiences.  Of  the  two,  though  Tris- 
tram might  be  the  romantic  one,  Marcia  was  the  roman- 
cer. She  saw  life  out  of  a  level  eye,  and  for  her  age 
was  a  stern  thinker;  within  her  were  the  makings  of  a 
rigorously  truthful  character,  but  the  time  for  truth  of 
that  quality  had  not  arrived  in  the  seventh  year  of  her 
conscience's  up-bringing:  merely  did  it  leaven  her  grim 
powers  of  invention  to  be  very  logical  and  circumspect, 
as  the  present  instance  will  show. 

Tristram  was  hearing  from  Marcia  the  true  story  of 
her  life;  and  as  the  narrative  went  in  sombre  phrase, 
as  an  unpleasant  duty  having  to  be  done,  he  without 
a  quiver  of  suspicion  drew  into  his  brain  a  vision  of  her 
fitting  well  enough  with  his  own  vague  inspirations  and 
dreams. 

Marcia  began  by  asking  him  if  he  had  not  noticed 
her  to  be  different  on  some  days  from  others ;  had  she 
not  looked  sulkier  and  prettier  now  and  again  ?  Tris- 
tram thought  it  over,  and  was  ready  to  be  sure  he  had. 

Marcia  having  her  quarry  up  and  on  the  run,  drove 
him  nimbly  down  the  ways  of  her  will.  She  bid  him 
know  the  reason. 

"I'm  two  different  people,"  she  declared;  "one  of 
them  is  me  and  the  other  isn't." 

"Which  of  them  isn't  you?"  asked  Tristram. 

"  The  sulky  and  pretty  one."  That  one,  she  told  him, 
came  and  took  her  place  during  the  recurring  periods  of 
her  absence ;  and  the  likeness  between  them  was  so 
close  that  even  fathers  and  aunts  were  taken  in  by  it. 

Tristram  questioned  why  she  had  to  go  away  at  all. 

Marcia  plucked  for  him  the  heart  of  her  mystery. 
"  It's  because,"  said  she,  "  I've  got  two  fathers  and  two 
mothers.  Even  when  father  and  mother  are  both  here, 
I've  still  another  father  and  mother  living  somewhere 


REAL    CHARACTERS  45 

else ;  and  when  they  want  me,  they  send  the  other  girl 
to  take  my  place,  and  she's  so  like  me  it  doesn't  matter 
—  nobody  finds  out  the  difference." 

Tristram  wanted  to  know,  with  the  beginnings  of  a 
small  jealousy  in  the  matter,  why  she  had  two  fathers 
and  mothers. 

"  Oh,"  said  Marcia,  "  it's  the  way  I  was  born ;  they 
knew  I  was  going  to  be  troublesome,  so  they  gave  me 
two.  You  need  a  lot  of  fathers  and  mothers  when  you 
are  naughty." 

"  But  I'm  just  as  naughty  as  you !  "  cried  Tristram,  in 
protest,  at  finding  himself  so  much  of  an  orphan. 

"  Oh  no,  you  are  not !  And  there's  children  naughtier 
than  me,  too.  Where  I  and  mamma  were,  there  was  a 
little  girl  who  used  to  go  about  with  three  mothers. 
She  wanted  me  to  exchange  with  her,  but  I  wouldn't, 
because  my  own  mother  wanted  me." 

"How  often  do  you  go  away?"  he  enquired,  intent 
on  waylaying  and  accompanying  her  at  her  next  flitting. 

"  I  go  every  week,"  said  Marcia.  "  I've  got  to  go 
away  to-day.  The  next  time  you  see  me  it  won't  be  me 
at  all ;  it  will  be  the  other  one." 

Tristram  became  all  agog  for  the  appointed  hour. 
Misery  at  the  thought  of  losing  her,  determination  not 
to  let  her  go,  made  him  staunch  in  his  refusals  of  her 
request  that  he  would  run  on  a  small  errand  indoors 
for  her :  walking-boots  were  the  things  she  wanted. 
Presently,  vowing  that  she  must  be  gone,  if  unutterable 
woes  were  to  be  avoided,  she  shed  real  tears  over  him, 
kissed  him,  and  cried  good-bye !  She  begged  him  to  be 
good  to  the  other  one  for  her  sake ;  then,  with  a  resolute 
push,  sent  him  tumbling  down  the  steps  to  the  grass- 
patch  below,  and  made  away  at  full  speed  through  the 
shrubbery,  in  the  direction  of  the  fowl-pens. 

The  Tramp  gathered  himself  up,  and  went  after  her; 


46  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

his  excitable  small  body  shook  with  sobs  that  choked 
him  as  he  ran.  When  he  got  round  to  the  back  prem- 
ises, the  fugitive  was  no  longer  in  sight.  He  butted 
himself  against  the  first  door,  and  finding  it  would  not 
open,  beat  lamentably  upon  it.  Then  he  ranged  the 
premises  in  all  directions  for  half-an-hour,  searching  in 
vain  for  traces  of  the  missing  one.  Presently  he  heard 
a  voice,  not  quite  Marcia's,  cooeying  to  him  from  a  far- 
away spot  in  the  back-gardens.  That  way  he  went  in 
all  haste,  and  there  found  Marcia  sitting  demurely 
among  the  currant  bushes,  her  lips  stained  by  the  red  of 
the  fruit,  and  looking,  to  be  sure,  prettier  and  sulkier 
than  as  he  had  last  seen  her. 

He  drew  near  with  a  sort  of  awe,  spying  to  find  more 
strangeness  in  her.  She  eyed  him  aslant,  and  nodded 
over  a  mouthful,  saying  never  a  word. 

"  Is  it  you?  "  he  asked  at  last,  "  or  are  you  the  other 
one?" 

Marcia  threw  a  full  stare  at  him.  "  I  don't  know  what 
you  mean !  "  was  her  first  parrying  answer. 

"  I  mean,  are  you  Marcia ;  or  are  you  the  girl  that 
comes  to  take  her  place  when  her  other  home  wants  her  ?  " 

At  that  the  other  swung  herself  round  with  an  air  of 
being  wonderfully  startled.  "  Do  you  mean  to  say  she 
told  you?"  cried  the  new  Marcia.  "Why,  she  could  be 
put  to  death  for  doing  that !  " 

"  Oh,  but  I  won't  tell !  "  cried  Tristram ;  "  you  mustn't 
either." 

"  No;  for  if  we  were  to,  she  would  never  be  allowed 
to  come  back  again.  If  you  want  to  see  her  again,  you 
must  promise  never  to  say  that  she  has  told  you !  " 

The  promise  given,  Tristram  began  to  examine  his 
new  companion  soberly ;  he  looked  her  over  from  top  to 
toe,  up  into  her  eyes,  and  under  her  chin.  "  How  like 
you  are !  "  he  said  at  last.  "  When  you  come,  do  you 
have  to  change  clothes?  " 


REAL    CHARACTERS  47 

"  No,"  she  answered ;  "  we  have  dresses  made  alike 
for  our  going-away  days." 

He  asked  her,  next,  what  her  real  name  was. 

"  Georgiana,"  she  told  him ;  "  but  here  I  have  to  be 
Marcia." 

Tristram  thought  that  funny.  "  Georgiana,"  said  he, 
"  is  Marcia's  favourite  name." 

After  thinking  for  a  little  she  answered,  "  Marcia's 
mine,"  adding,  "I'd  give  anything  to  be  Marcia!"  a 
remark  which  showed  that  Georgiana  was  at  present 
but  an  implement  in  Marcia's  hands,  an  underling  to  her 
stronger  personality. 

"  Are  her  other  father  and  mother  good  to  her?  "  was 
Tristram's  next  question. 

"  Oh  yes !  but  they  are  very  poor ;  they  can't  afford  to 
keep  her  as  well  dressed  as  she  is  when  she  is  here." 

Tristram  fell  into  deep  thought :  presently  it  came  into 
his  head  to  say :  "  Has  she  any  brothers  or  sisters  ?  " 

"  Of  course,"  said  the  cunning  Georgiana ;  "  she  has  a 
brother  there  exactly  like  you." 

The  Tramp's  intellect  fidgeted  under  this  new  fact. 
"  Why  doesn't  he  come  here,  then,  and  change  with 
me?  "  he  enquired. 

"  Because,"  said  Georgiana,  "  he  is  always  so  ill :  he's 
lame,  too,  and  can't  walk.  She  goes  there  to  nurse  him ; 
so  do  I  when  it's  my  turn." 

Tristram  was  thinking  that  he  knew  now  where  his 
old  clothes  must  go  to.  But  a  fresh  idea  drove  him 
abruptly  to  enquire,  "  Don't  you  ever  get  punished  for 
things  she  has  done  the  day  you  change  places  ?  " 

"  If  I  do,"  said  the  other  grimly,  "  I  pay  her  out  when 
my  turn  comes ;  that's  quite  easy." 

"Aren't  you  fond  of  her?"  asked  Tristram  rather 
wistfully,  wondering  how  he  was  to  divide  into  two  his 
own  affection  for  Marcia. 


48  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

Georgiana's  answer  to  that  was :  "  You  see,  I  hardly 
ever  meet  her;  we  are  always  having  to  be  in  different 
places." 

The  story  took  a  long  telling,  for  many  details  of 
deception  had  to  be  gone  through.  Marcia-Georgiana 
played  her  part  with  the  utmost  gravity,  and  Tristram 
took  it  all  in,  and  never  murmured;  he  gazed  enchanted 
upon  this  new  sister,  who  was  prettier  and  sulkier  than 
the  old  one,  and  who  had  a  small  lame  brother  exactly 
like  himself.  For  many  days  afterwards  his  heart 
yearned  toward  his  afflicted  double,  whom  he  was  never 
to  see;  at  night  he  dreamed  of  him,  and  would  some- 
times in  his  waking  hours  play  at  being  lame,  with 
Georgiana  looking  on  serious  and  unamused. 

Now  from  this  incident  those  who  live  by  the  letter 
rather  than  by  the  spirit,  will  conclude  that  there  was  not 
much  to  choose  morally  between  the  Marcia  Gavney  of 
this  chapter,  and  the  Sally  Tracy  of  a  previous  one. 
Like  priests  in  the  dark  ages,  both  of  them  bore  rule 
by  their  means;  but  to  a  different  end.  The  effect  of 
the  story  on  Tristram  was  strange :  he  loved  Georgiana 
better  than  the  old  Marcia;  and  Marcia  herself,  when 
she  returned,  better  than  both. 

When  she  returned :  for,  a  few  days  afterwards,  Mar- 
cia came  running  up  to  him  from  nowhere,  and  throwing 
her  arms  round  his  neck,  "  I've  come  back  again, 
Trampy!"  she  cried,  "I'm  Marcia.  How  did  you  like 
Georgiana?  " 

Tristram  owned  that  he  saw  but  a  shade  of  difference 
between  them ;  unless,  may  be,  the  other  were  a  little 
bit  the  taller. 

"  Ah,  yes !  "  Marcia  seized  on  the  admission.  "  They 
are  getting  rather  anxious  about  that  at  my  other  home. 
She  is  growing  so  fast  that  they  are  beginning  to  be 
afraid  of  sending  her  in  my  place  for  fear  of  being 
found  out." 


REAL    CHARACTERS  49 

In  course  of  time  Georgiana  was  allowed  to  grow  so 
fast  that  Marcia  could  no  longer  be  exchanged  with 
safety:  the  legend  seemed  to  be  dying  a  natural  death. 
Yet  more  than  a  year  went  by  before  Tristram  was 
sufficiently  advanced  to  say  doubtfully :  — 

"  Marcie,  was  it  true  what  you  used  to  tell  me  about 
your  changing  places  with  Georgiana?" 

Marcia  herself  had  grown  fast  in  the  last  year.  She 
turned  on  him  an  eye  of  fierce  sorrow.  "  Oh,  Tris,  why 
did  you  ask  me  that  ?  Marcia  died  while  she  was  at  her 
other  home  a  year  ago.  I'm  Georgiana;  I'm  taking  her 
place  for  good  and  all  now."  Possessive  instinct 
prompted  her  to  add :  "  He's  dead  too :  Chris,  I  mean, 
—  the  poor  little  lame  boy.  They  were  buried  the  same 
day." 

And  from  that  position  all  Tristram's  arguments,  ex- 
hortations and  denials  could  not  bring  her  to  budge. 
It  were  shame  to  say  how  long  afterwards  he  still  carried 
about  with  him  a  vague  ghostly  belief  that  the  story 
might  have  been  a  true  one,  after  all.  Even  when  he 
stood  clear  in  his  teens  his  faith  in  Marcia's  consistency 
kept  life;  and  he  knew  that  had  he  questioned  her 
again  on  the  subject  of  that  foolish,  childish  fable,  she 
would  have  turned  on  him  a  steady  eye  as  of  old,  and 
answered  under  a  sense  of  honourable  obligation,  "  I  am 
Georgiana." 


CHAPTER    VI 

Tristram's  heart   has   its  growing  pains 

*TpHE  day  during  which  Mrs.  Gavney's  return  was 
waited  for,  proved  one  of  constant  bickerings  and 
peace-makings  between  brother  and  sister.  Marcia  awoke 
unnaturally  bright,  with  a  fixed  eye.  She  raged  over  the 
delays  in  her  dressing,  grudging  Tristram  his  turns.  To 
his  babble  of  scatter-brained  remarks  about  all  the  things 
he  would  have  to  say  and  show  when  their  mother  was 
with  them,  she  opposed  a  harsh  doubt,  whether  they 
would  be  seeing  her  at  all  that  day.  Steeling  herself  for 
disappointment  she  said,  "  I'm  sure  she  won't  come !  "  and 
reiterated  it  with  such  a  parade  of  gloomy  conviction,  that 
Tristram  flew  off  in  scared  appeal  to  his  Aunt  Doris.  He 
triumphed  back  to  the  nursery  with  his  expectations  con- 
firmed. "  She  is  coming,"  he  cried ;  "  Auntie  Dorrie  says 
so!" 

For  that  Marcia  slapped  his  face.  They  fought,  and 
had  to  be  divided. 

An  hour  later  Marcia  raided  his  solitude;  kissed  him, 
declared  that  she  loved  him,  and  flew  out  again.  After  a 
time  they  were  loosed  once  more  into  each  other's  com- 
pany, but  could  not  agree  in  their  differences.  Tristram 
was  for  being  happy  with  his  playthings.  Encamped  in 
a  general  litter  of  them,  his  own  and  hers  mixed,  he 
began  whispering  to  all  that  had  ears  or  insides  wherewith 
to  hear,  news  of  the  great  event  which  was  at  hand. 

5° 


TRISTRAM'S    PAINS  51 

Marcia  made  a  jealous  swoop,  picked  out  those  which 
were  her  separate  property,  and  packed  them  severely 
back  into  their  cupboard. 

There  remained  to  become  a  bone  of  contention  an 
article  in  which  they  held  common  ownership ;  Tristram 
was  for  keeping  it  out,  Marcia  for  having  it  in.  They 
broke  it  in  the  struggles  which  put  a  close  to  arguments ; 
a  useless  piece  of  it  went  into  the  cupboard;  Tristram 
kept  possession  of  the  equally  useless  remains.  "  This  is 
my  half !  "  he  said,  and  played  with  it. 

They  were  summoned  from  a  state  of  rumbling  hos- 
tility to  their  morning's  airing.  Their  Aunt  Doris  was 
busy  over  household  preparations,  and  to  have  the  nurse 
as  her  substitute,  made  the  exercise  definitely  distasteful. 
Marcia  wished  to  know  where  they  were  going  and  re- 
belled, being  sure  now  that  her  mother  would  arrive 
prematurely  in  their  absence.  Tristram  begged  for  the 
Bembridge  road,  so  that  in  any  case  they  might  meet  her ; 
and  the  concession  was  granted  him.  It  left  Marcia 
without  a  grievance,  but  with  a  temper  that  showed  itself 
in  a  staid  deportment  during  the  whole  of  their  walk. 
While  Tristram  ranged,  she  followed  the  nurse  at  heel 
just  too  distant  for  conversation.  Seeing  cows  coming, 
of  which  she  had  a  dread,  she  remembered  that  the  road 
was  her  brother's  choosing,  and  said  to  herself,  "  So,  if 
they  toss  me,  it  will  be  Trampy's  fault !  "  They  did  not : 
before  the  cattle  came  much  nearer  Tristram  remembered 
her  weakness ;  he  trotted  back  and  slipped  his  hand  into 
hers.  She  gave  him  an  affectionate  squeeze,  and  they 
were  better  friends  for  a  while.  Nevertheless  it  remained 
for  her  a  day  of  sharp  edges,  and  companionship  was  the 
thing  which  proved  least  suited  to  her  complaint. 

During  the  afternoon  they  played  in  the  garden ;  but 
before  long  she  took  refuge  in  her  pet  climbing-tree  and 
would  not  come  down.    Tristram  made  daring  climbs  in 


52  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

her  neighbourhood  to  heights  he  had  never  aimed  at 
before,  but  could  not  tempt  her  to  a  following. 

He  left  her  at  last,  and  they  did  not  meet  again  till  tea- 
time.  Over  their  cups  and  cake  they  fell  into  a  concilia- 
tory mood :  word  had  come  by  telegram  that  Mrs.  Gavney 
was  really  on  the  way,  but  to  arrive  an  hour  later  than 
timed.  They  feasted  on  certainty :  Tristram's  brain 
became  crowded  with  plans.  '  Mayn't  we,"  he  demanded, 
"  go  along  the  road  and  meet  her,  before  any  one  else 
does  ?  " 

Restraint  was  set  upon  any  such  highway  attack  on  a 
tired  traveller.  Marcia  looked  across  at  him  with  an  eye 
that  spoke  volumes ;  but  when  the  meal  was  over  she 
avoided  his  signals,  had  her  bib  unfastened,  and  went 
hastily  out  of  the  room. 

Tristram  roamed  about  to  catch  sight  of  his  Aunt  Doris, 
whom  he  had  hardly  seen  that  day.  He  fell  upon  her  at 
the  store-closets,  and  starting  impatient  enquiries  as  to 
how  many  hours  longer  he  would  have  to  wait,  was 
warned  when  the  time  came  to  be  more  gentle  in  his  rap- 
tures:  those  romping  attacks  of  affection,  delightful  to 
her,  would  not  do  where  convalescent  nerves  were  con- 
cerned:  "Take  them  up  tenderly,  lift  them  with  care!" 
explained  Doris,  thinking  of  her  tired  sister's  arrival. 

"  Will  she  be  afraid  of  me?  "  queried  Tristram. 

"  No  no !  "  cried  the  dear  lady,  "  who  could  be !  "  She 
let  herself  be  hugged,  and  ordered  the  boy  off:  "  Go  and 
find  Marcia,  and  be  ready  when  the  time  comes !  " 

"  We  are  both  ready  now,"  he  declared ;  but  his  nurse 
thought  differently;  he  was  caught  on  the  run,  and  put 
through  the  process  of  washing  and  clean-collaring  it 
had  been  his  plan  to  avoid.  His  sister  had  been  before- 
hand in  submitting  to  the  inevitable :  there  were  no  signs 
of  her  in  the  nursery  when  he  went  up.  His  impatience 
to  get  down  and  out  again,  brought  on  him  only  a  cajoling 


TRISTRAM'S    PAINS  53 

measure  of  reproof:  so  near  now  was  the  moment  for 
which  all  the  household  stood  in  expectation. 

At  the  sound  of  carriage  wheels  from  a  distance,  just 
before  dusk,  Tristram  cried  out  for  Marcia,  and  ran  in  a 
flutter  of  haste  to  search  out  the  missing  link  of  his  happi- 
ness. One  of  the  servants  had  seen  Miss  Marcia  going 
down  the  drive. 

He  scurried  out  to  overtake  her,  and  was  shouting 
"  Marcia !  "  as  the  brougham  emerged  upon  the  sweep  at 
the  front.  Marcia's  head  came  serenely  out  of  the  car- 
riage-window ;  her  face  was  flushed  with  happiness. 

"  She's  in  here,  Trampy !  She's  in  here !  Come  and 
look  at  her !  "  was  the  invitation  flung  out  to  him. 

Tristram  jumped  up  on  to  the  step,  and  saw  vague 
things  within. 

"  My  boy  !  "  cried  a  sweet  voice,  "  my  boy  !  "  His 
father's  arms  lifted  him  across  the  sill ;  from  a  corner  of 
the  shadowy  interior  a  pale  face  smiled  at  him,  bringing 
sudden  memories.  Tumbling  to  be  clasped,  he  heard 
another  voice,  Marcia's,  saying,  "  This  is  Trampy."  Out 
of  breath  he  felt  a  heart  under  his  —  tears  that  were  not 
his  own,  flowing  warm  over  his  cheeks ;  and  twisting  his 
mouth  free  to  whisper  that  he  was  glad,  saw  eyes  strange 
and  familiar,  and  Marcia,  with  a  fast  hold  on  them  both, 
lean  down  her  face  to  join  theirs.  They  embraced  all 
three  together ;  mists  were  on  Tristram ;  he  kissed  mother 
and  sister,  scarcely  knowing  them  apart  till  the  carriage 
drew  up.  There  waiting  her  turn  to  come  in  and  be 
kissed  he  saw  his  dear  Aunt  Lady-love,  and  with  a  great 
cry  of  affection,  threw  himself  on  her  too,  as  though  fear- 
ing lest  new  love  had  been  a  sort  of  treason  to  the  old. 

When  welcomings  were  over,  Marcia  alone  had  dry 
eyes.  Yet  that  night  she  was  the  one  that  lay  wakeful 
and  cried  of  her  happiness. 

The  next  morning  an  early  awakening  moved  Tristram 


54  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

to  go  and  tap  at  his  Aunt  Doris's  door  and  make  plea  for 
admittance.  Sweet  sleepy  speech  bade  him  enter. 
"  You !  "  she  cried,  surprised,  as  he  frolicked  up  to  her 
bedside  and  crouched  for  an  invitation  to  spring  in.  She 
opened  her  arms  through  a  sea  of  golden-brown  locks. 
"Jump!"  cried  she:  and  he,  nestling  his  ear  in  the  soft 
frills  under  his  lady's  chin,  cried,  "Sing!"  and  purred 
for  the  notes  to  follow. 

She  sang  to  him  of  Cock  Robin ;  "  And,  why  do  you 
listen  like  that  ?  "  she  asked  him.  "  Oh,  I  like  to  hear  it 
in  the  tunnel  before  it  comes  out !  "  was  the  explanation 
given  her  to  laugh  at. 

He  made  love  to  her  in  funny  quaint  speeches,  and 
fluttered  to  let  her  see  she  was  loved  to-day  as  much  as 
yesterday;  but  could  not  put  himself  into  words.  She 
talked  to  him  of  his  mother ;  he,  listening  with  grave 
attention,  asked,  "Is  she  going  to  be  wrell  now?"  and 
was  troubled  not  to  get  a  more  sure  answer.  In  his 
mind,  so  susceptible  to  emotions  of  pity,  a  tender  filial 
devotion  had  begun  toward  that  mother  who  was  ever 
to  remain  a  sort  of  stranger  to  him :  a  piety  evoked  by 
the  frailty  of  a  body  aged  before  its  time,  and  destined 
never  to  renew  its  youth  or  feel  again  the  joy  of  un- 
hindered health. 

"  You,  Auntie  Dorrie,  are  always  quite  well,  are  you 
not  ?  "  he  asked,  eyeing  her  dear  beauty. 

"  Oh,  quite,  quite,  quite !  "  she  cried,  with  a  sudden 
shoot  of  colour  to  her  cheeks. 

She  started  talking  to  him  of  his  old  man,  the  Sage, 
and  of  the  promised  return  visit  which  she  hoped  to 
arrange.  Would  Trampy  come?  Indeed,  and  would  he 
not !  The  mere  mention  was  enough  to  spring  fondness 
to  his  memories  of  that  one  day's  acquaintance :  she  could 
not  tell  him  fast  enough  a  tithe  of  the  things  he  wished 
breathlessly  to  know.     And  this  remained  characteristic 


TRISTRAM'S    PAINS  55 

of  the  boy  all  through  life:  utterly  contented  though  he 
might  seem  with  present  surroundings  to  be  reminded  in 
absence  of  those  he  loved  gave  him  a  curious  restlessness, 
a  disturbed  sense  that  he  had  been  remiss  toward  their 
claims  on  him.  It  seemed  to  him  always,  then,  that  he 
had  never  yet  loved  them  as  they  deserved;  and  if  some 
had  reason  at  times  to  think  him  the  most  forgetful  of 
lovers,  they  found  him  at  others  astonishingly  the  most 
grateful.  Doris  Foley  spoke  of  him  with  some  insight 
in  regard  to  his  friendships,  when  she  declared  that  his 
heart  was  a  thorn  working  through  his  body  in  all  direc- 
tions, and  constantly  coming  out  at  his  sleeve ;  and  the 
Sage,  who  had  a  weakness  for  finding  truth  and  beauty 
eternally  united,  gave  extravagant  praise  to  a  saying  that 
came  from  lips  so  fair.  "  Almost  the  only  wise  things  I 
hear  now-a-days  come  from  the  young!"  he  declared. 
"  I  am  finding  young  people  the  best  book  of  wisdom  for 
my  old  age." 

"  Ah !  but  I  am  no  longer  young,"  sighed  the  lady. 

"  Twenty-five,  I  should  judge,"  he  answered,  "  if  I  may 
be  allowed  to  put  Time's  cage  round  you." 

"  You  are  generous :  you  have  spared  me  two  whole 
years  in  your  reckoning!  "  was  her  reply.  "  But  I  judge 
of  age  by  looking  forward,  not  by  looking  back.  I  shall 
never  be  very  old ;  and  therefore  I  have  ceased  to  be  very 
young."  She  smiled  gaily,  adding,  "  I  have  lived  one  of 
the  happiest  lives  I  know,  and  still  live  it!  Surely  you 
can  judge  of  that,  who  sighed  just  now  for  jealousy  of 
me  over  Trampy's  ways  of  giving  us  our  '  good-nights  ' ! 
He  loves  you  well  enough ;  but  I  am  his  first  romance.  I 
shall  die  with  that  in  my  proud  possession." 

This  was  the  lady  whose  sense  of  the  fleetingness  of 
things  expressed  itself  so  well  in  the  sigh  uttered  just  a 
month  before :  "  Only  three  weeks !  then  we  will  go  pic- 
nicking to-morrow." 


56  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

Little  Towberry  lay  but  four  miles  on  the  other  side  of 
Bembridge,  or  six  from  the  Valley  House,  and  the  goings 
to  and  fro  between  the  two  homes  were  frequent.  Even 
Mrs.  Gavney,  before  the  cold  of  winter  came  to  make  her 
a  prisoner  within  doors,  could  drive  over  the  distance, 
stay  a  night,  and  return  on  the  next  day.  It  was  thus 
that  she  came,  with  Tristram  under  her  weak  wing, 
for  the  day  that  brought  the  great  Sage  to  her  sister's 
roof. 

Mr.  Beresford  Gavney  came  also  from  his  place  of 
business  in  Sawditch,  and  at  first  in  the  presence  of 
Tristram's  celebrity  showed  less  ease  than  did  his  wife 
and  sister-in-law.  It  was  with  difficulty  that  Miss  Foley, 
during  dinner,  kept  him  from  talking  "  county,"  that 
height  toward  which  he  furtively  aimed,  and  from  which 
his  women-kind,  with  a  better  sense  of  fitness,  strove  to 
keep  him  retired. 

"  If  Beresford  would  only  take  a  pride  in  the  wheels  he 
himself  runs  on,  and  have  less  of  a  wish  to  run  behind 
other  people's,  what  a  happy  man  of  business  he  might 
be !  "  his  sister-in-law  had  said  in  early  days  when  she 
knew  him  less  well  than  now.  She  had  struck  at  once 
on  the  weakest  point  of  a  character,  whose  surfaces  did 
not  fairly  correspond  to  the  merits  underneath.  Mr. 
Gavney  was  a  discontented  man  of  business,  vain  of  his 
capacity,  ashamed  of  his  calling.  As  a  young  man  suc- 
ceeding to  the  business  which  his  father  had  founded,  he 
had  sacrificed  some  of  the  goodwill  that  a  fixed  appella- 
tion carries,  lest  his  name  should  stand  connected  with 
the  sources  of  his  income.  He  now  traded  as  a  firm,  a 
device  by  which  few  were  deceived,  and  outside  business 
hours  nervously  avoided  all  mention  of  the  commodities 
and  processes  about  which  he  knew  most.  "  Beresford 
always  stops  short  at  the  point  where  he  could  become 
informing!"    was    another    of   his    sister-in-law's    small 


TRISTRAM'S    PAINS  57 

shafts.  But  it  would  be  a  mistake  to  think  that  she  had 
no  affection  for  the  man  whom  she  thus  probed  with  slight 
ridicule.  Before  her  sister  she  was  always  careful  to  spare 
him ;  spoke  warmly  indeed,  and  had  cause,  for  he  was  a 
devoted  and  impeccable  spouse. 

"  It  is  a  mercy,"  she  declared  to  others  of  her  family, 
"  that  in  spite  of  appearances  his  heart  does  not  run  en- 
tirely to  waistcoat ;  under  that  patterned  exterior  there's 
a  pattern  of  a  man.  Anna  is  never  quite  happy  when 
she's  without  him,  and  never  quite  unhappy  when  with 
him.  Can  one  say  much  more  when  the  poor  health  she 
has  cuts  her  off  from  the  more  active  enjoyments  of  life? 
He  is  a  man  I  like  genuinely  whenever  I  see  him  with 
her;  and  respect  always  when  he  does  not  try  to  make 
himself  respected  outside  his  limitations." 

"  Positively,  I  could  be  thankful  sometimes,  if  he  would 
drop  one  of  those  carefully  held  '  H's  '  of  his !  "  was  a 
complaint  the  same  friendly  on-looker  made  against  his 
manner  of  going  into  society. 

Mr.  Gavney  had  looked  forward  with  flattered  trepida- 
tion to  the  half-hour's  tcte-a-tcte  with  a  great  celebrity 
which  the  wine  after  dinner  would  secure  him,  and  had 
laid  up  stock  of  polite  conversation  which  he  hoped  might 
put  them  at  ease  one  with  another.  He  emerged  at  the 
end  of  that  period  of  promised  felicity  with  a  scared  feel- 
ing of  satisfaction  over  the  impression  he  had  made,  but 
a  lowered  sense  of  the  Sage's  gentility.  He  had  talked  — 
well,  he  believed ;  but  on  what  topics  ? 

Doris,  when  the  two  reappeared,  sent  her  brother-in- 
law  a  smile  of  amused  interrogation.  "  How  did  you  get 
on?  "  the  smile  seemed  to  say ;  "  And  if  well,  —  as  by  the 
look  of  you,  —  then,  how  so?  " 

Mr.  Gavney  had  nothing  that  his  lips  could  impart. 
Was  he  to  go  over  to  his  sister-in-law  and  own  that 
against  his  will  he  had  been  talking  informingly  on  the 


58  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

one  subject  he  knew  thoroughly,  and  had  found  genius 
most  meanly  interested  in  it,  for  all  the  world  like  a  shop- 
man ?  He  glowed  over  the  proceeding,  and  blushed  with 
shame.  Where  had  he  placed  himself  socially  in  the  great 
man's  estimation,  he  wondered.  Had  they  met  to  talk 
factory  ?  All  that  talk  had  been  wrung  from  him ;  he 
was  for  dismissing  it  quickly  from  his  thoughts. 

But  the  Sage  having  tasted  at  the  fresh  springs  of 
knowledge,  was  hardly  ready  as  yet  to  relinquish  the  topic. 
"  Miss  Foley,"  he  cried,  "  I  have  come  from  so  much 
good  wine  and  so  much  good  instruction,  that  they  have, 
between  them,  almost  atoned  to  me  for  the  absence  of 
my  hostess.  I  am  refreshed  and  informed.  I  am  on 
better  terms  with  the  habiliments  I  live  in ;  I  feel  myself 
larger:  my  intelligence  passes  into  the  shell  which  en- 
closes me.  Until  to-day  I  was  packed  like  a  parcel ;  now 
my  garb  is  a  part  of  me ;  cloth  has  a  real  meaning  to  me 
at  last ;  —  Mr.  Gavney  has  been  expounding  everything 
and  with  the  modesty  of  a  master " 

He  got  no  further;  Beresford  Gavney's  modesty  mas- 
tered all  further  speech  of  it.  He  became  eager  to  know 
if  his  sister's  guest  had  yet  heard  a  voice  that  her  family 
was  proud  of. 

"  It  is  one  of  those  things  I  have  come  for !  "  cried  the 
Sage.  "  If  you  are  readers  of  Mr.  Browning's  poems  you 
will  remember  that  one  which  deals  with  both  these  things 
together  —  textiles  and  song :  Tyrian  purple,  the  cloth  of 
kings,  and  the  porridge  of  John  Keats.  In  literature 
1  purple  patches  '  we  say ;  the  two  lend  terms  to  explain 
each  other.  Mr.  Gavney,  I  come  to  be  shown  your  works 
the  first  fine  day ;  only  promise  that  I  see  none  of  your 
fair  young  factory  girls  dipped  in  the  blues :  no  Plutonian 
Proserpines,  I  beg  of  you !  " 

Mr.  Gavney  in  care  for  his  wife  was  able  to  cover  his 
embarrassment.     He  craved  leave  that  she  might  with- 


TRISTRAM'S    PAINS  59 

draw ;  she  already  looked  tired,  he  told  her ;  still  half  an 
invalid,  she  was  under  orders  to  observe  early  hours, 
positively  must  go.  He  apologised,  and  with  fond,  fussy 
solicitude  led  her  out  of  the  room. 

"  A  proud  man ;  it  is  pretty  to  see  them,"  remarked  the 
Sage,  when  the  door  closed  on  the  retiring  pair.  "  An 
honest  man,  too,  I  take  him  to  be." 

Doris,  smiling,  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm.  "  He  has," 
said  she,  "  two  best  sides  to  his  character ;  now  you  have 
seen  him  in  both.  He  is  a  good  husband  and  a  good  man 
of  business.  But  I  must  beg  you,  if  you  would  let  him 
be  comfortable,  not  to  pursue  your  subject  when  he 
returns ;  business  makes  him  blush."  She  added,  "  Did 
you  talk  to  him  at  all  of  our  boy  ?  " 

"  A  little,"  said  the  old  man,  "  but  they  seem  to  be 
strangers.  Our  boy,  as  we  see  him,  appears  to  be  almost 
unknown  to  him." 

"  That  is  going  to  be  the  tragedy,"  she  murmured. 
"  Yes,  and  with  my  sister  it  is  the  same.  But  you  see  his 
dear  nature;  he  picks  up  fathers  and  mothers  as  he  goes 
along."  Her  smile  adopted  him  to  a  share  in  the  spiritual 
relationship.  She  crossed  to  the  piano,  and  sang  to 
ravished  old  ears.  Her  voice  filled  up  the  rest  of  the 
evening,  preserving  to  her  brother-in-law  the  good  im- 
pression he  had  created.  He  and  the  Sage  parted 
cordially ;  but  no  fine  day  ever  brought  that  invitation  to 
view  the  dye-works  and  cloth-making  for  which  the  other 
had  bargained. 

This  was  the  first  of  a  series  of  meetings  under  Doris 
Foley's  roof  between  a  trio  of  lovers.  The  offer  used  to 
be  hung  over  the  Tramp's  head  shamelessly,  as  a  bribe 
to  industry ;  and  he  would  wriggle  patiently  through  a 
week  of  hard  sittings  at  sums  and  words  of  two  syllables, 
for  the  sure  prospect  of  his  two  dear  delights  waiting  to 
give  him  joy  at  the  end  of  it. 


60  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

Marcia  went  also  at  first,  from  a  curiosity  to  see  this 
wonderful  being  of  whom  Tristram  raved.  She  settled 
not  to  like  him,  because  of  a  quizzical  look  his  blue  eves 
had  when  they  turned  on  her,  and  because  Tristram 
lavished  on  him  an  intimacy  of  affection  which  she  con- 
sidered unseemly  when  bestowed  outside  the  family  circle. 

She  found  fault  with  his  ways.  "  Why  does  he  go  like 
that?"  —  she  imitated  an  uncouth  habit  the  Sage  had  of 
looking  down  the  arm-hole  of  each  sleeve  in  turn,  like  a 
bird  when  it  preens  its  wings.  "  And  why  does  he  put 
'  r.r.r.r.'  into  everything  he  says?  "  —  she  made  a  mock  of 
his  north-country  accent.  In  everything  about  him  she 
found  something  to  object  to,  fighting  hard  against  an 
instinct  which  told  her  he  was  lovable.  She  offered  him 
no  more  than  an  abrupt  hand-shake  after  witnessing  the 
Tramp's  warmer  demonstrations  of  welcome,  and  in  all 
ways  was  stiff  and  priggish,  with  a  determination  not  to 
be  liked.  After  their  one  meeting  she  chose  to  imagine 
that  her  mother  was  too  ill  to  spare  her  —  for  it  was  but 
once  that  Mrs.  Gavney  was  able  to  be  of  the  party  —  and 
would  beg  off  more  often  than  not,  after  her  going  had 
been  thought  settled. 

Behind  her  back  the  Sage  spoke  of  her  with  waggish 
awe,  and  revelled  in  Tristram's  tales  of  her  great  wisdom. 
Marcia  would  listen  in  a  fever  for  report  of  any  crumbs 
of  his  speech  that  had  reference  to  her;  and  having 
secured  them,  professed  utter  indifference  as  to  what  he 
thought  or  said.  "  Between  me  and  your  Marcia,  there 
will  only  be  a  death-bed  reconciliation,"  prophesied  the 
Sage.  "  The  question  is,  which  of  us  shall  bring  it  about 
by  making  haste  to  die?  " 

Marcia  pondered  the  saying  deeply.  All  she  said  was, 
"  I  think  he  is  a  silly  old  man."  Her  feelings  were 
hurt ;  his  charity  was  merely  a  way  of  putting  her  in  the 
wrong. 


TRISTRAM'S    PAINS  61 

To  have  one  of  his  adorations  thus  unappreciated  was 
to  Tristram  like  the  discovery  of  a  defect  in  his  own  char- 
acter ;  he  kept  trying  to  put  it  right ;  the  more  Marcia 
objected  to  his  idol,  the  more  she  brought  in  argument  to 
her  side. 

After  a  quarrel,  she  was  always  specially  demonstrative 
of  her  love  for  him.  She  ran  gloriously,  and  climbed 
better  than  he;  in  swarming,  short  skirts  give  a  grip. 
He  was  the  better  kangaroo;  Marcia  excelled  as  a 
monkey. 

She  had  one  climbing-tree  of  her  very  own ;  the  Tramp 
never  came  into  it  without  leave;  many  reconciliations 
between  the  two  took  place  there.  He  had  his  own 
climbing-tree  also,  but  of  that  she  was  made  free  without 
any  conditions  at  all ;  he  had  not  the  gift  of  exclusiveness 
which,  in  her,  grew  to  so  fine  an  edge. 

One  day  well  on  in  winter,  Tristram  alone  was  sent 
over  to  Little  Towberry,  and  found  cousins  old  and  young 
—  the  Sage  amongst  them,  at  his  sociable  best,  dispelling 
the  awe  which  gathered  when  his  name  was  pronounced. 
In  a  corner,  not  looking  well,  sat  the  beautiful  Aunt 
Doris ;  she  who  was  generally  the  centre.  The  child  spied 
at  her,  and  questioned.  She  patted  his  mouth  to  stop  all 
foolish,  tender  enquiries,  and  became  gay  when  presently 
the  Sage's  mastery  of  the  revels  had  thrown  the  whole 
company  into  merriment. 

Tristram  vibrated  between  his  two  stars,  a  giddy 
meteor  never  to  be  held  still.  It  was  the  dressing-bell 
ringing  for  his  elders  that  skurried  him  to  bed  late. 

His  beloved  had  forgotten  to  sing  to  him ;  he  called  out 
to  her  as  she  went  down  to  dinner.  She  peeped  in  at  him 
beautifully  arrayed. 

"  No  time  now,  my  Tramp ;  afterwards  I  will,  if  you 
are  still  awake.  But  you  will  find  me  a  bird  without  a 
voice  —  no  coo,  all  croak !  " 


62  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

She  ran  away  and  forgot  one,  with  whom  bed  meant, 
touch  the  pillow  and  it  is  to-morrow.  She  never  dreamed 
of  his  keeping  awake. 

It  is  what  he  did.  Waiting  wide-eyed  till  social  sounds 
ascended  once  more  from  the  drawing-room,  he  expected 
to  hear  her  voice  at  the  piano,  and  would  have  gone  to 
sleep  upon  that.  But  from  singing  when  her  visitor  pre- 
ferred a  petition  to  that  end,  Doris  excused  herself.  She 
blamed  her  throat  and  the  weather ;  but  her  face,  in  spite 
of  smiles,  showed  distress. 

Two  hours  after,  she  was  dragging  herself  to  bed,  more 
tired  than  she  knew.  Tristram's  little  voice  called  her 
to  him.  "My  song,  Auntie  Dorrie,  my  song!"  he 
whimpered,  almost  aggrieved. 

"  Oh,  Trampy,  you  poor,  wakeful  little  imp !  "  she  cried, 
full  of  ruth  at  having  forgotten  him.  She  took  him  up 
and  let  his  head  go  where  it  loved  to  nestle.  Twice 
she  tried  :  then  sang. 

Tristram  heard  the  beautiful  notes  thrown  high,  break 
quavering  and  come  down  with  a  sob ;  there  was  a  soft 
ripping  sound  and  stillness.  Doris  let  herself  fall  back 
under  the  child's  weight  into  the  bed  his  body  had  made 
warm.  She  lay  motionless.  He  clawed  at  her  in  the 
dark ;  and,  at  her  breast,  where  her  closed  hands  were, 
felt  crumpled  paper. 

Without  knowing  it,  he  had  touched  the  tragedy  of 
Doris  Foley's  life.     It  was  then  but  a  day  old. 

The  next  morning  she  kissed  him  from  her  bed.  though 
it  was  mid-day  when  he  came  to  bid  her  good-bye.  Her 
smile  was  ravishingly  sweet  to  him  —  yet  he  felt  guilty. 
Had  he,  he  wondered,  done  her  some  injury. 

The  week  could  not  pass  without  an  exchange  of  let- 
ters between  the  two.  At  the  end  of  it  he  came  to  be 
reassured,  found  a  bright  face  waiting  for  him,  and  the 
old  Auntie  Dorrie  quite  renovated,  with  not  a  difference 


TRISTRAM'S    PAINS  63 

that  he  could  discover.  She  sang  him  his  songs  at  first 
asking,  and  deceived  him  thoroughly  as  to  her  state. 
Marcia  was  in  their  company,  and  the  three  had  the 
house  to  themselves.  "  I  sent  all  my  visitors  away  in  a 
bundle  last  week !  "  said  Miss  Foley.  It  suggested  brown 
paper  to  Tristram,  and  on  his  return  home,  he  had  him- 
self delivered  absurdly  at  his  mother's  door  in  a  huge 
parcel  done  about  with  strings.  Marcia  helped  at  the 
untying,  and  there  was  much  merriment  and  kissing  when 
the  crackling  had  been  removed.  "  We  made  mother 
laugh,"  was  the  report  Tristram  had  to  send  back. 


CHAPTER  VII 

ARBOREAL    CHILDHOOD 

A  FEW  weeks  later  Doris  Foley  was  again  at  the 
"**•  Valley  House,  and  owned  that  it  would  be  for 
something  more  than  a  short  stay.  "  I  want  you  and  my 
boy  with  your  belongings,  and  not  a  thing  in  the  way  of 
visitors !  "  she  said  to  her  sister,  and  having  shut  up  her 
home  at  Little  Towberry,  declared  that  she  felt  relieved 
of  all  care. 

Her  hands  became  in  reality  more  full  than  when  she 
was  merely  her  own  mistress ;  taking  over  the  house- 
keeping of  an  establishment  which  taxed  too  heavily  Mrs. 
Gavney's  frail  energies,  she  had  enough  to  think  and  do. 
Knowing  herself  welcome,  she  claimed  to  be  a  defending 
providence  to  the  family.  "  If  I  could  not  have  come," 
was  her  argument,  "  it  would  have  been  a  case  of  send- 
ing for  Julia  Gavney;  you  may  choose  between  us  yet! 
That  last  letter  of  hers  reads  peckishly ;  'tis  like  a  benevo- 
lent bird  of  prey  she  hovers  over  you !  " 

"Julia  is  good;  but  she  is  too  managing,"  said  Mrs. 
Gavney,  "  and  Beresford  gratified  me  by  saying  that  I 
should  find  you  the  better  companion."  It  was  the  dear 
lady's  way  to  put  on  the  chains  of  her  husband's  authority 
as  articles  of  adornment.  "  These  are  my  jewels !  "  she 
seemed  to  say,  and  would  quote  his  opinions  on  quite 
slight  matters;  it  saved  her  a  world  of  thinking;  these 
decisions  of  life  she  left  gladly  to  others.    In  this  instance 

64 


ARBOREAL    CHILDHOOD  65 

Mr.  Gavney  was  glad  that  his  wife's  favourite  sister 
should  be  with  her.  In  spite  of  a  ten  years'  difference  in 
their  ages,  the  two  fitted  companionably  together;  nor 
was  he  unmindful  of  that  social  charm  for  which  Doris, 
of  all  the  Foleys,  stood  first.  Across  the  valley  Hill 
Alwyn  stood  out  to  view ;  quite  likely  was  it  that  his  very 
presentable  sister-in-law  might  be  of  use  in  bringing  the 
two  houses  to  a  neighbourly  footing. 

Coming  between  the  children  and  the  jarred  nerves  of 
her  invalid  sister,  Miss  Foley  was  a  relief  to  both  sides. 
She  allowed  her  charges  to  run  more  wild  than  was 
generally  told ;  the  neighbourhood  got  to  know  them,  a 
fast-stepping  trio,  with  wide-awake  voices,  and  always  in 
full  spirits  over  the  business  on  hand.  Their  walks  took 
adventurous  shapes,  and  sent  them  home,  often  a  little 
more  weary  than  was  well.  Making  a  fairly  wide  range 
over  the  country,  they  touched,  when  time  allowed,  the 
dark  borders  of  Randogger,  counting  their  miles  roughly 
by  the  brooks  which  moistened  the  dip  of  each  green 
valley.  Woodsides  just  then  were  beginning  to  break 
into  soft  flower;  overhead  were  larch  trees,  rushing  into 
a  spurt  of  green  and  knobs  of  red  blossom ;  catkins  came 
tumbling  like  a  plague  of  caterpillars  from  the  black 
poplars  along  the  roads ;  pushed  out  of  place  by  the  turbu- 
lent growth  behind,  so  eager  to  lay  hold  on  air,  they 
littered  the  ways  like  autumn  already  come.  Every  day 
the  wind,  sunning  its  wings  in  thicket  and  meadow,  dis- 
closed new  eyes  and  set  new  doors  a-swing  to  the  bright 
world.  Earth  lay  in  the  rapids  of  time ;  spring's  green 
flood  rushing  over  its  sides  forced  it  to  the  caress  of  life. 
Doris  Foley  was  resolute  to  see  the  beauty  of  each  day 
as  it  flew  by;  to  her  the  spring-quickening  of  that  year 
spoke  as  she  remembered  no  other  to  have  done ;  each 
morning  to  enquiry  she  was  able  to  say,  "  I  feel  well," 
and  to  herself  declared  constantly  "  I  am  happy! " 


66  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

There  could  be  no  doubt  she  seemed  so.  Tristram  had 
visions  of  her  afterwards  with  her  lap  full  of  the  flowers 
gathered  on  their  different  rambles:  daffodils,  violets, 
primroses,  she  helped  them  to  bear  home.  On  a  later  day 
white  wood  anemones  were  their  spoil,  quick-fading 
things,  which  drooped  and  grew  old  in  the  hand  that  car- 
ried them,  refusing  an  indoor  life. 

The  children  named  each  small  dell  after  the  things  that 
grew  there.  They  chanced  on  the  anemone  wood  for  the 
first  time,  when  its  flowers  were  in  full  snow,  and  the  walk 
which  brought  them  new  wood  and  new  flower  together 
was  remembered  long  after  as  a  special  stroke  of  good 
fortune.  For  Tristram  that  wood  held  magic,  it  seemed 
like  a  promised  land  flowing  with  milk  and  honey;  he  fell 
down  on  all  fours  to  wallow  in  its  beauty,  and  ran  carry- 
ing white  armfuls,  unwilling  to  let  any  of  them  go,  till 
he  saw  his  Aunt  Doris  sitting  in  a  snow-drift  of  the  offer- 
ings Marcia  had  heaped  on  her. 

Nor  did  that  day's  ramble  finish  without  some  further 
adventure.  Up  the  steep  bank  of  wood  Tristram  heard 
a  wild  note  of  distress,  and  bounding  to  find  the  cause, 
saw  a  stoat,  disturbed  by  the  noise  of  his  approach,  slip 
from  a  young  rabbit's  back  and  dart  back  into  the  under- 
growth. The  little  wounded  thing  ran  quite  fearlessly  to 
the  boy's  feet;  stopping  then,  half-stunned,  it  let  itself 
be  taken  up  and  fondled,  and  without  begging  it,  seemed 
to  suffer  gladly  the  shelter  his  presence  extended. 

Tristram  feared  to  let  it  go  again  where  destruction 
awaited  it;  mothering  instinct  prompted  him  to  carry  it 
away  home,  heal  its  wound,  and  bring  it  restored  again 
to  its  own  place.  Just  behind  the  ears,  where  the  stoat 
had  fastened,  blood  was  flowing;  the  child  imagined  that 
human,  if  not  medical  treatment  was  necessary ;  he  ran 
back  to  his  aunt  with  its  small  anatomy  hugged  fast,  and 
between  them  they  made  a  most  benevolent  to-do  over 


ARBOREAL    CHILDHOOD  67 

the  little  beast,  fancying  they  could  read  grateful  recog- 
nition through  the  round  opening  of  its  eyes.  Tristram 
made  a  pannier  for  it,  lined  his  coat  under  with  grass 
and  flowers,  and  brought  it  home,  putting  it  into  an  im- 
provised hutch  for  the  night. 

It  was  quite  alive  the  next  day,  eating  what  was  set 
before  it  with  a  sober  cheerful  demeanour.  If  the  hutch 
was  rough,  the  lying  was  soft  and  the  food  plentiful ;  nor 
had  it  a  dull  moment  while  Tristram  was  free  to  come 
and  give  it  company.  Withered  wood-anemones  thrust 
through  the  bars  were  to  remind  it  of  home. 

On  the  second  morning,  Tristram  broke  in  upon  Marcia 
wild-eyed.    "  Where's  Mike  ?  "  he  demanded. 

Mike  was  Marcia's  very  special,  and  was,  at  that 
moment,  reposing  on  his  young  mistress's  lap.  "  He  has 
eaten  my  rabbit !  "  squealed  Tristram,  on  catching  sight 
of  the  culprit.  "  Oh,  the  black  devil !  Just  you  give  him 
to  me !  "    He  struck  a  demanding  attitude. 

Marcia  stood  up  for  defence.  "  How  do  you  know  ?  " 
she  demanded,  in  doubt  as  to  the  evidence. 

"  Who  else  would  ?  "  retorted  Tristram.  "  Bring  him 
down  to  the  hutch,  and  see  if  he  doesn't  show  it!  Oh, 
Marcia !  my  poor  little  rabbit  is  all  gone !  " 

"  He  got  out,"  was  suggested. 

"  Oh  no,  he  wouldn't !  He  was  much  too  tame !  " 
Tristram  wept  with  rage  for  the  loss  of  his  dear  two-day- 
old. 

Marcia  refused  to  be  convinced.  Being  a  wild  rabbit, 
of  course  he  went,  was  her  theory.  Could  Tristram  show 
a  better  ? 

The  boy  made  a  sudden  dart  on  Mike,  crying :  "  Look, 
there's  grey  fur  on  his  paws,  and  his  whiskers  are  bloody ! 
You  shall  let  me  have  him !  " 

"  He  shan't  be  hurt!  "  stuck  out  Marcia. 

Tristram  smote  in  with  all  his  might.    The  cat  fuffed, 


68  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

and  dug  claws.  Resenting  on  Tristram  the  pains  her 
flesh  had  to  endure,  Marcia  held  up  Mike's  body,  now 
ramping  in  heraldic  attitude,  and  darted  him,  all  fours 
out,  on  Tristram.  The  cat  dealt  him  rather  more  of  a 
scratch  than  its  mistress  intended ;  she  made  haste  to  get 
the  table  between  them  for  a  barrier. 

Tristram  dropped  the  fight,  threw  up  a  bleeding  chin, 
and  marched  out,  crying :  "  Yes,  that's  the  way  girls  fight, 
like  cats ;  all  spittings  and  scratchings."  He  called  back 
from  the  passage:  "  If  I  catch  Mike,  I  kill  him!  Mind 
that !  " 

"  You  won't  catch  him !  "  said  Marcia ;  and  to  make 
sure,  carried  him  off  there  and  then  to  the  gardener's 
lodge,  and  begged  for  him  to  be  locked  away  in  a  safe 
place  till  called  for. 

Coming  back  to  the  house  under  cover  of  the  shrub- 
bery she  beheld  flagrant  trespass  taking  place  —  Tristram 
up  aloft,  where  he  had  least  right  to  be,  in  her  own 
climbing-tree,  wagging  its  high  branches  defiantly,  and 
singing  shrill  scorn  of  her  at  the  top  of  his  voice.  It 
was  apparent  that  he  hoped  to  have  her  within  hearing; 
but  his  eye  prowled,  and  had  not  lighted  yet  upon  her 
whereabouts. 

She  knew  the  words  of  his  summons  well  enough :  it 
was  their  established  battle-cry,  an  insult  she  had  never 
yet  let  pass.  She  heard  "  Cowardy  custard  "  sent  forth 
to  rhyme  with  "  mustard  " ;  "  slugs,  snails,  and  puppy- 
dogs'  tails  "  were  the  ingredients  which  went  to  her  mak- 
ing. It  was  choice  language;  children  have  the  gift  for 
finding  it.  Marcia  was  all  but  in  honour  bound  to  take 
up  the  cudgels  when  that  song  was  borne  in  on  her. 
Now,  however,  she  stopped,  sought  deeper  shelter  in  the 
shrubs,  and,  avoiding  every  bit  of  open,  skulked  in  by  a 
back  way.  In  truth,  her  sense  of  justice  smote  her,  for 
on  further  examination  there  had  been  no  doubt  that 
Mike's  black  paws  had  grey  fur  on  them. 


ARBOREAL    CHILDHOOD  69 

Her  mean  evasion  left  Tristram  to  the  weary  bother 
of  remaining  enskied  for  the  whole  hour  preceding  lesson- 
time,  and  of  singing  his  throat  dry,  like  a  scarer  of  birds, 
with  the  challenge  that  remained  unanswered.  At  the 
end  of  that  time  he  began  to  guess  what  dogged  un- 
derhand tactics  she  opposed  to  him,  for  he  knew  well 
that  bright  sunshine  and  the  leisure-hour  would  have 
brought  her  out  of  doors,  had  not  crafty  knowledge 
kept  her  away.  He  pulled  out  his  pocket  knife,  carved 
his  initials  large  on  her  pet  climbing-branch,  and  came 
down. 

During  lessons  they  stiffened  their  necks  at  each  other 
like  two  towers  in  Coventry.  Tristram's  eye  was  waiting 
to  shoot  disdainful  fires  whenever  she  looked  up.  He 
curled  a  superior  lip  at  every  mistake  she  made,  but,  for 
reasons,  knew  his  own  lessons  badly  enough. 

By  dint  of  headstrong  blundering  he  got  himself  kept 
in,  and,  having  secured  the  penalty,  tossed  his  nose  in 
triumph,  as  to  say :  "  Anything  rather  than  be  in  your 
company,  Sister  Marcia !  " 

Her  own  tasks  ended,  Marcia  went  away  soberly  with- 
out looking  at  him.  Presently  she  came  back  into  the 
school-room,  and  sat  down  to  a  lesson-book.  Tristram 
grew  puzzled,  for  he  remembered  how  his  war-whoops 
had  kept  her  at  an  earlier  hour  from  her  usual  run  in  the 
open  air.  Outside  the  sun  shone  still ;  Marcia,  as  he 
looked  at  her  now,  wore  a  demure  air  of  penance.  Her 
meaning  remained  dark  to  him. 

In  the  silence  that  followed  Tristram's  perfunctory 
scratchings  upon  his  slate,  these  two  queer  natures  acted 
and  re-acted  on  each  other's  consciences.  Compunction 
dripped  steadily  in  the  mild  corners  of  their  hearts.  Pres- 
ently Marcia  must  raise  gloomy  eyes  to  see  Tristram's 
burning  hot  upon  hers.  She  endured  his  gaze,  softening 
her  glance  the  while,  but  making  no  other  sign. 


70  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

It  was  not  till  the  slow  tedium  of  luncheon  was  over 
that  she  took  his  hand,  and  led  him  out  silently  to  the 
scene  of  last  night's  tragedy. 

She  jerked  her  head,  and  showed  him  her  pride  brought 
low  in  the  person  of  her  beloved  special  —  Mike,  in  such 
disgrace  as  had  never  before  fallen  upon  his  sacred  sleek 
body.  He  sat  a  hunch  of  misery  in  the  desolated  rabbit- 
hutch,  among  scatterings  of  bran  and  withered  lettuce- 
stalks,  mewing  miserably  to  be  let  out.  Round  his 
neck  was  a  bow  of  black  which  drooped  long  weeper 
ends.  Never  did  quadruped  show  a  more  pilloried  sense 
of  shame. 

Tristram,  who  knew  how  unbending  was  Marcia's  pride 
in  her  own  belongings,  became  awed  by  such  a  sight. 
Remorse  rained  into  his  soul  also ;  he  too,  now,  had  a 
guilt  which  he  must  own  to. 

"  Oh,  Marcia !  "  he  mumbled,  "  I  didn't  know  you'd 
done  that;  so  I "    So  far  he  got,  and  paused. 

Her  eye  required  that  he  should  make  an  end  of  what 
he  had  to  say. 

"  So  I  carved  my  name  up  in  your  tree,  that's  what  I 
did  !  "  said  Tristram. 

She  gave  him  a  long  stare,  saying  nothing  while  you 
might  have  counted  ten. 

"  All  right,  Trampy,"  she  said,  at  last,  "  you  may  have 
it."  Her  tree  for  his  rabbit  was,  after  all,  no  robbery. 
She  kissed  him,  feeling  that  the  magnanimity  lay  more 
on  her  side  now,  then  went  slowly  and  unfastened  the 
door  of  the  rabbit-hutch.  Mike  leapt  out  with  an  afflicted 
air,  and  went  stumbling  over  the  trailing  ends  of  his  scarf. 
"  He  may  wear  that  till  he  can  get  it  off,"  observed 
Marcia. 

For  her  and  Tristram  the  incident  was  over ;  they  were 
as  good  as  gold  to  each  other  the  same  day.  If  the 
Tramp  wept  for  his  rabbit,  it  was  not  when  Marcia  was 


ARBOREAL    CHILDHOOD  71 

by.  As  for  Mike,  it  was  days  before  his  mistress  caressed 
him  again  in  Tristram's  presence;  but  furtively,  when 
they  were  in  private  together,  she  made  him  divine 
amends.  He  did  not  have  to  wear  his  weeds  many 
days. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

MYTH,    RITUAL,    AND    RELIGION 

'  |  4HE  Sage  had  spoken  confidently  of  Tristram  to  his 
aunt  as  "  our  boy,"  meaning  to  say,  "  You  and  I 
have  this  right  to  him  above  others,  seeing  that  we  know 
him  best."  In  truth  they  had  a  common  sympathetic 
understanding  of  the  sweet,  sociable  animal  he  was,  of 
quick  heart  and  intellect,  built  upon  highly-strung  nerves ; 
yet  it  may  be  doubted  if  they  had  a  notion  of  the  depths 
of  him.  Solitude,  as  we  have  seen,  turned  him  into 
another  creature,  difficult  to  track.  Into  that  part  of  his 
being  Marcia  made  the  deepest  guess,  waylaid  it  where 
she  could,  yet  knew  that  something  escaped  her.  There 
were  times  when  she  would  see  Tristram  by  himself,  full 
of  small  gesticulations,  asseverations  and  denials  of  the 
head,  forefinger  or  fist  at  play,  foot  stamping  out  argu- 
ment —  all  the  live  springs  in  him  at  work.  But  if  she 
joined  herself  to  him  then,  blank  looks  put  up  a  barrier 
of  secrecy :  nothing  would  he  tell.  In  all  their  games  of 
make-believe,  it  was  from  her  that  the  invention  had  first 
to  come.  Tristram  would  submit  himself  to  her  inspira- 
tion when  any  definite  game  was  up,  and  would  foot  it 
well  to  the  other's  tune ;  but  there  were  times  when  to 
Marcia's  imperious  "  I  want  you !  "  his  answer  in  effect 
would  be  "I  want  myself!"  nor  could  companionship 
then  be  got  out  of  him.  He  was  off  like  quick-silver 
from  a  jerked  palm,  to  gather  for  himself  there  is  no  tell- 

72 


.MYTH     RITUAL,    AND    RELIGION      73 

ing  what  handfuls  of  mystery.  In  that  world  of  his  own 
he  dwelt  hidden :  Aiarcia  knew  of  it,  but  little  enough 
of  what  went  on  there. 

Streamside  dwellers  will  tell  how  they  have  lived  on  a 
spot  for  years,  and  watched  the  current  water  and  the 
fishers  up  and  down  its  banks,  but  have  never  once  seen 
the  solitary  otter  that  has  his  range  there.  Yet  he  is  no 
sentimentalist,  this  diver  shy  of  men's  eyes :  he  seems 
to  know  well  that  hands  are  dead  against  him,  that  his 
is  a  dying  race,  of  a  savagery  which  Nature,  no  longer 
wild,  seeks  to  shake  off:  knows  it  with  a  tragic  intensity 
that  does  not  belong  to  the  water  vole  or  the  other  small 
vermin,  for  whom  there  is  still  space  and  to  spare.  Dog 
of  Pan !  when  the  hounds  get  upon  his  trail,  something  of 
the  heroic  age  runs  in  him,  and  dies  fighting  great  odds. 
Look  for  it  among  humans,  this  survival  of  a  breed 
fierce  and  aboriginal,  now  become  hermetic  from  men's 
eyes ;  traces  of  it  you  shall  find,  yet  they  shall  not  bring 
you  to  its  lair.  There,  hidden  yet  in  our  midst,  an  old 
atavism  of  the  race  dies  hard,  rebellious  against  Time, 
savage,  yet  wondrously  shy  —  so  shy  that  it  may  be  at 
your  side,  or  under  your  own  roof,  and  you  not  know 
that  it  is  there.  The  survivors  of  the  tribe  make  few 
signs,  caring,  perhaps,  but  little  to  be  recognised  by  their 
fellows :  solitaries  they  stale  it  out,  till  it  grows  faint  in 
the  blood.  Civilised  custom  so  soon  makes  us  unfaithful 
to  the  natural  man  that  is  within  us.  The  domestic  dog 
is  more  staunch,  and  will  wind  himself  round  three  times 
before  he  settles,  though  he  lies  in  a  kennel  and  wears 
collar  and  chain. 

What  follows  of  Tristram,  grotesque  though  it  be, 
gives  you  him  at  no  game  of  shadowy  make-believe. 
Growing  experience  and  every-day  fact  have  done  little 
to  put  sobriety  into  his  brain,  or  bring  his  thoughts  into 
open  play.    Just  below  the  surface,  not  to  be  tracked,  his 


74  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

mind  runs  like  a  mole :  the  earth  of  ancestry  clings  to  it. 
You  find  here  the  fears  of  the  savage,  preserved  and 
cropping  up  with  strange  force ;  all  his  furtiveness  and  sly 
dealings  with  the  odds  and  chances  of  life  ready  again 
to  become  strong.  With  Tristram  there  was  little  need 
to  pick  and  choose  a  day  to  have  sight  of  the  two  natures 
in  him  —  the  social  and  the  solitary. 

New  places  excited  him :  to  light  on  a  fresh  field-way, 
still  more  to  enter  a  new  bit  of  wood,  started  the  kindling 
process,  and  the  less  then  did  he  care  for  the  fellowship 
of  his  own  kind.  If  in  that  mood  he  were  to  come  upon  a 
stream,  then  it  must  be  crossed,  no  matter  how ;  to  be  at 
the  other  side  of  everything,  and  to  beat  pursuit  in  getting 
there,  became  a  sort  of  a  necessity  to  him.  A  mile  from 
home  the  sense  of  adventure  began. 

One  wild  morning  of  March  and  wind,  homeless  be- 
tween earth  and  cloud,  brother  and  sister  had  run  up  into 
the  wilderness  above  the  house,  to  give  a  short  stretch 
to  their  limbs.  Tristram  had  vowed  to  Marcia  that  before 
clock-stroke  he  would  be  quit  of  her  company,  and  the 
tussle  of  pursuit  and  escape  grew  hot.  The  hour  grew 
close:  they  ran  and  tumbled  to  an  accompaniment  of 
squeals,  Marcia  determined,  Tristram  beginning  to  be 
scared.  She  had  him  by  the  coat ;  he  left  it  in  her 
hands ;  she  was  driving  him  down  towards  a  high  fence ; 
it  challenged  his  eye  desperately.  Could  he  leap  it?  en- 
quired fear. 

Suddenly  the  whole  thing  became  dead  earnest,  a  matter 
of  life  and  death  to  him.  Her  laugh  was  behind  him. 
"  You  can't  do  it,  Trampy !  "  and  he,  with  a  wild  catch 
of  the  heart,  went  up  into  air,  broke  across  the  obstacle, 
and  leapt  away  to  possess  himself  of  solitude.  The  im- 
perious mood  had  come  like  a  seizing  hand  through  his 
hair,  and  lifted  him  clean  back  to  savagery.  Marcia  might 
then  cry  after  him  in  vain ;  he  had  other  companions. 


MYTH,    RITUAL,    AND    RELIGION      75 

When  her  feet  ceased  running,  these  ceased  not  to  follow 
on:  and  "  Mother,  mother,  mother!  "  cried  his  blood,  as 
he  dashed  wildly  through  bowing  woodlands  that  roared, 
enchantment  to  right  and  left  of  him ;  and,  where  his 
feet  fell,  heard  snap  and  crumble  the  dry  bones  of  the 
monstrous  age ;  and  felt  on  face  and  hands  the  exhala- 
tions of  its  dead  breath.  Sensation  spun  in  him  of  a 
speed  that  overtook  the  wind :  wild  horses  after  him  he 
would  not  have  feared ;  yet  a  terror  came  that  the  wood 
was  endless,  that  he  was  never  again  to  look  out  upon 
clear  sky. 

The  mood  passed;  spent  lungs  and  legs  acquiesced, 
when  he  came  to  open  ground,  that  danger  no  longer 
followed  close.  Over  his  head,  up  a  slight  rise  of  field, 
a  poplar  bowed  hugely  before  the  blast.  In  the  shelter 
of  its  scooped  rind  he  threw  himself  down,  and  through 
the  throbbing  of  his  own  blood  heard  within  the  sound 
of  its  strained  fibres,  and  the  deep  waters  of  its  sap  sob- 
bing up  and  down  without  rest.  How  much  life  went  on 
there  that  he  had  not  suspected !  Merely  to  place  his 
ear  and  listen  had  been  the  key.  Now  he  was  to  know 
about  trees  (recurring  to  it  whenever  after  great  winds 
blew),  how  within  the  maenad  motion  and  gesticulation 
of  their  limbs,  this  sound  went  on  of  disastrous  struggle, 
this  wrestling-out  of  a  wish  to  live,  with  the  element 
which  was  finally  to  bring  them  death.  Only  once  had 
he  heard  a  sound  at  all  like  it,  a  little  sound  against  which 
he  had  cried  out  in  the  darkness  for  help  to  come.  Do- 
mesticity crept  back  into  his  heart;  after  all,  the  thing 
he  loved  best  in  the  whole  world  was  his  Aunt  Doris. 
He  snatched  a  handful  of  daffodils,  and  to  look  at  her 
once  more  set  out  on  a  race  for  home.  He  was  late  for 
lessons  when  he  got  there,  and  was  very  little  concerned 
to  find  Marcia  in  sulks. 

At  a  much  later  day,  on  the  bare  hill  above  the  Beacon 


76  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

Farm,  he  was  to  know  a  tree  peculiar  and  clear,  that  he 
would  visit  when  the  winds  were  up,  for  the  sake  of  the 
strange  voice  with  which  it  spoke  to  him.  A  gaunt 
twisted  fir,  weather-bitten  by  all  the  gales  of  the  locality, 
it  seemed  to  fulfil  the  adage  and  to  have  had  its  features 
wried  many  times  and  fixed,  this  way  and  that,  by 
changes  of  the  wind,  and  so  was  already  a  nipped  and 
gnarled  specimen  of  battered  age  when  the  boy  first  came 
on  it.  He  took  it  in  his  arms  often,  and  discovered  in 
himself,  one  day,  a  quaint  scruple  and  solicitude  in  regard 
to  its  honour,  when  having  swarmed  to  a  high  bough,  he 
found  there  five  wind-hover's  eggs  in  a  crow's  nest,  and 
would  take  none  of  them,  because  his  tree  was  their 
guardian. 

But  the  boy's  cranks  needed  little  of  romance  to  work 
upon;  drop  upon  him  wherever  you  liked,  you  would 
have  found  him  cheating  life  of  its  prose.  An  unadorned 
view  of  facts  was  the  thing  most  difficult  for  his  mind 
to  attain.  What  he  made  of  even  a  plain  pike-staff  (rod. 
pole,  or  perch,  call  it!)  you  will  see  before  this  chapter 
is  ended. 

Tt  happened  one  day  that,  for  lack  of  any  one  else, 
Tristram  had  to  be  sent  into  Bembridge,  and  for  the 
first  time  was  going  alone.  His  person  was  due  at  Mrs. 
Harbour's  to  be  measured  for  new  clothes,  and  for  a  test 
whether  his  brain  could  be  as  well  trusted  over  the 
distance  as  his  legs,  sundry  small  errands  were  given  to 
him.  His  Aunt  Doris  armed  him  with  a  slip  of  instruc- 
tions for  a  guide,  but  he  had  a  method  of  his  own  which 
he  thought  better.  One  commission  he  hung  here  and 
another  there,  looping  them  by  imaginary  strings  to  the 
flaps  and  buttons  of  his  apparel.  Thus  visualised,  they 
came  more  adhesive  to  his  memory  than  had  he  learned 
the  list  of  them  by  rote.  Marcia  commissioned  him  for 
sweets,  and  the  terms  being  cash,  her  twopence  went  into 


MYTH,    RITUAL,    AND    RELIGION      77 

his  pocket  —  alas,  not  to  be  found  again  when  felt  for: 
his  mind  proved  itself  the  better  carrier. 

It  was  early  morning,  and  a  day's  holiday  ahead  made 
the  boy  in  haste  to  be  off  and  back  again.  His  ritual  of 
preparation  for  going  out  had  become  an  instinct ;  but 
the  telling  of  it  takes  time.  Going  to  the  boot-hole  for 
his  shoes  and  gaiters,  he  had  to  keep  one  foot  carefully 
planted  in  the  passage  above,  lest  the  evil  genius  of  the 
place  should  have  a  hold  on  him.  Down  there  dwelt  the 
quick-into-the-pit  ghosts  of  rebellious  Israelites  whom, 
from  his  Scripture-readings,  he  had  thus  familiarly  local- 
ised, choosing  for  them  the  blackest  and  most  pit-like 
place  in  the  whole  house,  a  mouth  ever  ready  and  waiting 
for  more  fodder  to  be  added  to  it.  From  that  shadowy 
maw  of  death  boots  came,  with  a  suspect  character ;  be- 
fore putting  one  on,  he  would  shake  it  violently,  charging 
unclean  spirits  to  come  out  of  it,  and  squeeze  its  toe 
to  warn  trespassers  forth,  as  punctiliously  as  ever  lonely 
dame  looked  under  bed  in  the  dread  hope  of  finding  flat 
burglary  below. 

From  the  swing-door  to  the  foot  of  the  staircase  was 
a  matter  of  ten  paces,  a  distance  to  be  crossed  smartly 
at  a  bound  ;  for  woe  betide  him  if  he  had  not  a  first  foot 
planted  before  the  door  should  slam  to  behind  him.  On 
the  way  upstairs  other  delicacies  of  ritual  had  to  be  gone 
through  ;  the  half-landing  was  a  place  of  peril ;  to  escape 
its  local  demons  he  had,  time  and  again,  hauled  himself 
past  by  way  of  the  banisters.  Once  he  fell ;  yet,  for  all 
that,  seemed  to  his  own  mind  to  have  steered  clear  by  a 
marvel  of  the  evil  chance  which  had  been  threatening 
him. 

"  I  was  sliding  down  the  banisters !  "  was  the  fib  he  let 
fly  when  raging  authority  hastened  to  pick  up  a  grievously 
battered  object :  for  the  fall  was  merely  a  healthy  inci- 
dent by  the  way.     Indeed,  all  strokes  actually  dealt  him 


78  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

by  fate  Tristram  took  as  in  the  day's  work.  The  evil 
against  which  he  so  constantly  fought,  never  in  fact  fell 
on  him ;  nor  had  he  even  a  notion  what  the  thing  itself 
would  be  like,  save  that  in  all  probability  it  had  four 
ravenous  legs  to  run  on,  —  an  apprehension  which  harks 
him  fairly  back,  one  may  think,  to  the  fears  which  first 
drove  imperilled  man  to  the  sharpening  of  his  primitive 
wits. 

With  Tristram,  however,  the  fear  had  become  half- 
spiritualised  ;  the  point  is  that  some  aspect  of  wild  nature 
dwelt  behind  his  brain,  and  made  a  gnawing  at  his  bones. 
Physical  knocks  he  ever  accepted  with  stolid  good 
humour,  as  he  had  accepted  at  Marcia's  hands  his  first 
helping  of  mud-pie,  on  the  day  when  they  had  sat  down 
resolutely  to  get  through  and  have  done  with  that  portion 
in  life,  the  "  peck  of  dirt,"  which  they  had  heard  was 
decreed  to  be  every  man's.  In  that  case,  however,  Nature 
had  raised  her  hand  against  the  first  mouthful,  and  taught 
them  to  be  more  patient  in  fulfilment  of  their  destiny. 
We  give  Tristram  no  more  than  his  due ;  patience  over 
what  he  received  went  ever  side  by  side  with  an  equal 
impatience  over  what  he  was  about  to  receive ;  wherein 
he  was  but  like  the  early  Christian  martyrs,  perhaps  like 
all  the  enthusiasts  and  cranks  who  have  helped  from 
first  to  last  to  salt  and  preserve  the  world  into  what  it  is. 

In  receptiveness  the  reader  must  follow  his  example, 
or  throw  down  the  book,  for  he  perceives  by  this  time, 
no  doubt,  that  Tristram's  history  is  not  to  be  told  without 
many  parentheses,  back-slidings  and  forward-slidings  by 
the  way.  'Tis  not  without  a  very  business  of  explanation 
to  and  fro,  that  we  can  even  get  him  started  out  of  the 
house  on  an  ordinary  week-day  errand ;  such  an  eel  is  he 
to  catch  and  set  into  straightforward  motion. 

By  dint  of  right-footing  he  gets  himself  at  last  fairly 
out  and  on  to  the  public  way.    The  gate-demon,  fellow  to 


MYTH,    RITUAL,    AND    RELIGION      79 

the  one  which  battened  on  the  slam  of  the  swing-door, 
he  made  impotent  for  a  while,  by  propping  its  jaws  back 
with  a  stone,  and  getting  in  many  steps  to  the  good  on 
his  run  towards  town,  before  the  next  passer-by  should 
let  it  once  more  click  itself  to  the  latch.  The  poor  gate- 
keeper was  indeed  now  of  very  small  account,  having 
no  strong  springs  to  act  on  like  his  fellow  within  doors ; 
Tristram  by  his  devices  had  trodden  him  into  very  fine 
dust,  but  belief  in  his  actuality  did  not  diminish. 

Half  a  mile  below  the  house,  by  the  mill  lying  down 
in  the  hollow,  Tristram  lingered  to  watch  the  big  wheel 
trampled  round  by  the  steady  tread  of  incoming  water. 
He  sent  a  prying  eye  into  the  depths  to  see  at  what  point 
the  trough-like  cogs  heaved  off  their  load.  Presently  he 
was  stretched  prone  almost  at  touch  with  this  great 
elephantine  marker  of  time.  Mrs.  Harbour's  old  dread 
for  her  nursling  would  have  been  revived,  could  she  have 
looked  at  him  then,  and  heard  all  the  confidences  that 
passed,  while  into  his  face  the  wheel  flew  spray,  and  the 
roof  dripped  moisture  over  his  head  from  pendants  of 
moss  and  fern. 

There  as  he  hung  absorbed,  the  miller  took  note  of 
him,  and  coming  behind,  asked  what  fish  he  was  hoping  to 
catch.  Tristram  said  he  was  looking  to  see  where  the 
corn  went  in.  The  man  laughed,  friendly  to  such  igno- 
rance, and  bid  the  boy  come  in  and  see  how  corn  really 
got  itself  ground.  The  Tramp's  conscience  pricked  him 
to  his  errands,  and  with  a  promise  to  take  a  look  in  upon 
his  way  back,  he  was  up  and  off. 

Half  a  mile  further  was  the  beginning  of  the  debatable 
land,  where  a  sense  of  distance  from  home  began  to  act 
on  his  blood  and  rouse  adventurous  expectations.  On 
this  day  it  chanced  that  they  were  satisfied.  In  the 
straight  run  of  fields  which  bordered  on  the  town  the 
child  sighted  from  afar  a  figure  he  had  once  before  met 


80  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

when  in  the  safe  company  of  his  elders ;  a  tall  thin  man 
with  a  high  hat  low  down  over  his  ears,  tight  lips,  a  large 
roving  eye,  distended  nostrils,  that  breathed  vehemently, 
and  a  body  thrown  to  its  work  like  a  pendulum  on  the 
swing  —  altogether  a  queer,  uncanny  figure  to  be  seen  at 
any  time  on  a  country  way. 

Tristram  and  Marcia  had  described  him  to  themselves, 
after  that  first  meeting,  as  "  the  man  with  the  yellow 
breath,"  and  had  looked  forward,  in  trepidation,  to  a 
second  encounter. 

Now  Tristram,  all  alone,  conceived  a  great  horror  of 
passing  him ;  over  the  half-breadth  of  one  field  he  faced 
his  approach,  but  at  the  last  fairly  turned  and  ran.  Quit- 
ting the  path,  he  sprang  through  a  hedge,  and  creeping 
down  the  further  side  of  it,  saw  his  man  come  to  a  stand- 
still, and  look  vaguely  to  right  and  left,  as  if  to  make 
out  what  wind  had  raked  the  nearing  pedestrian  so  sud- 
denly off  his  path.  Presently  he  nodded  to  himself  under 
his  great  hat,  as  if  the  meaning  of  the  thing  had  come 
to  him,  and  swung  forward  again  upon  his  solitary  road. 

Tristram  breathed  free.  On  his  return  journey  he 
enquired  of  the  miller,  and  was  told  of  the  man  and  his 
condition.  He  lived,  the  boy  heard,  beyond  Hiddendon, 
tenant  of  a  small  farm  and  officer  of  excise  in  that  remote, 
rural  district,  a  lonely  man,  without  wife  or  family. 
The  oddity  of  his  appearance  had  won  him  the  nick-name 
of  Daddy  Wag-top.  The  miller  asked  if  Tristram  had 
been  afraid  of  him;  some  children,  he  remarked,  were 
"  skeert "  at  him.  Tristram  denied  the  impeachment. 
"  I  thought  him  just  a  funny  man,"  said  he,  choosing  to 
forget  how  unsteady  had  been  his  legs  when  he  returned 
to  the  field-track  after  the  gaunt  figure  of  Daddy  Wag-top 
had  disappeared. 

Free  of  that  apparition  he  discovered  on  reaching  the 
town  that  somewhere  unon  the  road  the  virtue  of  two- 


MYTH,    RITUAL,    AND    RELIGION      81 

pence  had  gone  out  of  him.  Straightway  it  was  in  his 
mind  to  tell  Marcia  how  on  his  lonely  way  he  had  been 
pursued  by  "  the  man  with  the  yellow  breath,"  caught  by 
the  heels,  suspended  head  downwards  in  air,  and  shaken 
empty  of  his  wealth :  and  he  had  not  a  doubt  that,  al- 
though Marcia  might  not  believe  him,  she  would  regard 
the  explanation  as  a  satisfactory  money's  worth,  without 
suspecting  him  of  so  base  a  thing  as  a  lie  might  ordinarily 
be  suspected  to  cover.  Truth  that  touched  not  the  vital 
sensation  of  things,  that  sounded  paltry  and  mere  in  the 
telling,  had  not  a  value  for  Tristram,  nor  was  owed  to  a 
comrade  of  Marcia's  staunchness  of  intellect.  Had  he 
fallen  into  a  pond  by  walking  forward  with  his  eyes  shut, 
he  would  sooner  have  claimed  that  it  was  by  walking 
backwards  with  his  eyes  open.  For  the  falls  of  man  con- 
tinue, in  the  following  of  Adam,  to  make  him  feel  naked 
and  ashamed ;  concealment  is  his  instinct ;  and  true  to  his 
nature  he  invents  his  own  excuses. 

The  creature  of  mystery  drew  near  at  last  to  Mrs. 
Harbour's  door.  It  lay  in  a  small  enclosed  court  where 
cockle-shells  and  bright  flowers  abounded ;  between  railed 
squares  of  garden-plot,  cobbled  paths  led  up  to  the 
threshold  of  each  small  tenement.  Halting  at  one  of 
these,  the  boy  tapped ;  heard,  after  a  pause,  movement 
within  ;  and  became  a  changed  creature.  Away  crumbled 
the  mould  of  ancestry ;  his  mole  mind  no  longer  grubbed 
in  dim  passages  for  under-world  meanings ;  'twas  with  a 
twittering  impatience  of  the  affections  that  he  waited  for 
admission  to  a  heart  that  held  welcome  for  him. 

A  second  knock,  imperatively  delivered,  caused  the 
door  to  open  and  reveal  Mrs.  Harbour  rearing  herself 
like  a  barricade,  with  refusal  in  her  countenance.  When 
she  recognised  her  visitor,  her  eye  softened  to  him ;  but 
there  was  woe  in  it.    It  was  apparent  she  had  a  grievance. 

"  What,  Master  Trampy  dear,  is  it  you  ?  "  she  began  in 


82.  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

fond  utterance.  "  Come  in,  my  love,  my  lamb!  What's 
brought  you  so  early?  A  body  mayn't  get  up  late,  it 
seems,  without  all  the  world  catching  her  at  it.  It's  been 
knock,  knock,  knock,  all  the  morning;  and  I  vowed  that 
the  next  might  go  on  knocking  till  they  thought  me  to 
be  out.  But  I  didn't :  my  heart  telling  me  I  should  be 
doing  it  to  the  wrong  person.  Sit  ye  down  there,  my 
dear;  and  I  wish  ye'd  not  have  come  before  I  got  rid  of 
the  taste  of  my  breakfast." 

Tristram,  seeing  a  meal  in  remains,  begged  that  she 
would  finish  it,  while  he  sat  and  looked  on. 

'  No,"  wailed  the  aggrieved  woman.  '  It's  not  my 
breakfast,  Master  Trampy ;  it's  my  prayers !  I  can't  get 
'em  said  through.  Hardly  had  I  set  down  to  'em  after 
breakfast,  when,  for  my  forgetting  to  take  it  off,  the 
kettle  boils  over.  That  made  me  to  begin  again  the  first 
time :  for  it  never  do,  I  say,  to  give  the  Almighty  His 
due  piece-meal,  like  a  coat  that's  not  been  stitched  to- 
gathers.  Then  I'd  hardly  got  down  on  my  knees  again, 
when  the  butcher  come  by  for  his  weekly  order.  And 
then,  as  the  angels  would  have  it,  you  come  a-knocking 
your  little  body  against  the  door :  which  is  where  we  are 
now !  Just  you  set  yourself  down  easy  in  that  chair,  and 
let  me  get  through  with  'em,  for  work's  not  in  me  till  me 
prayers  are  done." 

The  Tramp  sat  down  with  a  solemn  face ;  though  Mrs. 
Harbour  had  many  times  heard  him  say  his  prayers,  hers 
he  had  never  heard.  It  was  a  thing  he  had  not  seen  his 
elders  do  out  of  church,  having  no  idea,  indeed,  that  they 
were  bound  to  that  same  convention;  and  painfully 
abashed  he  was  on  beholding  his  old  Nan-nan  at  any  such 
exercise.  But  seeing  her  honestly  distressed  over  the 
lets  and  hindrances  she  spoke  of,  he  gave  her  a  friendly 
smile,  and  then  looked  grave,  while  Mrs.  Harbour  went 
slowly  down  on  her  two  knees,  and  started  once  more  like 


MYTH,    RITUAL,    AND    RELIGION      83 

Sisyphus,  to  accomplish  the  labour  which  three  times  that 
day  had  been  brought  to  nought. 

She  prayed  aloud  from  a  habit  which  belonged  to  her 
loneliness ;  also  because  she  prayed  by  book,  and  silent 
reading  was  beyond  her  powers  of  scholarship.  It 
touched  Tristram's  instinct  of  respect,  to  see  that  his 
presence  was  forgotten  as  soon  as  the  first  words  of  piety 
were  uttered.  But  hardly  had  she  fetched  way  into  her 
general  statement  of  transgression  than  he  noted,  with  a 
sinking  of  the  heart,  how  deliberately  pondered  were  the 
words  of  her  complaint ;  how  slow  came  the  punctuating 
Amens,  as  though  from  a  reluctance  to  let  a  good  thing 
go ;  and  when  at  last  she  turned  from  familiar  prayers  to 
the  unfamiliar  of  her  own  privacy,  his  dismay  deepened, 
so  stodgy  grew  the  vocabulary  of  her  devotions ! 

One  good  turn  she  did  him  —  she  prayed  straight  out 
and  honestly  for  "  Mr.  Harbage,  the  green-grocer  in 
Brook  Street,  whom  the  doctors  can  do  no  good  to :  " 
bringing  to  his  mind's  eye  a  pleasant  note  of  local  colour, 
a  small  shop-front  containing  fruit,  and  boxes  frilled  in 
tinsel  and  lined  with  pink  tissue-paper  —  and  making 
him  aware  that  prayer  might  have  some  real  connection 
with  the  actual  concerns  of  life,  a  thought  that  had  not 
occurred  to  him  before.  Also  did  she  touch  his  heart 
once  by  the  mention  of  his  own  name  and  that  of  his 
mother  with  the  rest  of  the  family  in  order.  Her  "  Make 
him  be  a  good  boy,"  took  a  sense  quite  different  from  his 
own  twice-a-day  utterance  of  the  same  petition,  and  won 
for  her  the  sincere  addition  of  her  name  to  the  list  of 
those  he  prayed  for,  till  later  developments  released  him 
from  a  habit  which  the  literal  not  the  spiritual  law  had 
imposed. 

But  these  helps  by  the  way  did  not  deprive  the  ordeal 
of  all  its  irritants.  As  ill  fate  would  have  it,  the  season 
was  penitential  and  lenten,  or  the  day  was  a  Friday,  and 


84  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

according  to  the  domestic  rubric,  an  abridged  litany  had 
to  be  ground  through.  Tristram,  listening  while  prayer 
after  prayer  made  plodding  for  old  Mrs.  Nannie's  speech, 
felt  at  last  that  violence  must  break  out  of  him.  The 
crock  spaniel  on  the  chimney-piece  overhead,  as  it  stared 
out  of  window  with  great  owl-like  eyes,  wore  an  ex- 
pression of  hooting  derision ;  the  tall  eight-day  clock, 
tapping  like  a  wood-pecker,  as  it  picked  with  mincing 
distinctness  small  bits  off  the  minutes,  seemed  deserving 
of  assault  and  battery.  He  was  dreading  what  other 
pieties  might  have  to  follow,  when  there  came  a  sound 
of  steps  over  the  cobbles  outside,  and  the  sprightly  attack 
of  an  umbrella  handle  on  the  door.  The  summons  was 
repeated ;  Tristram  writhed  as  the  droning  voice  of  Mrs. 
Harbour  faltered  and  slowed  preparatory  to  surrender. 
Was  this,  then,  to  be  all  gone  over  once  more  in  his 
hearing,  from  the  beginning  to  the  place  where  they  stood 
now,  and  so  on  with  more  to  the  end  ?  Perish  rather 
the  favour  wherein  Mrs.  Nannie  now  held  him,  and  the 
fit  of  the  garments  she  was  shaping  for  him !  He 
screwed  up  his  courage  to  the  inspiration  that  seized  him, 
crossed  on  tip-toe  to  the  door,  and  opening  it  but  a  couple 
of  inches,  wedged  in  a  face  resolute  to  oppose  intrusion. 

"Please,"  he  said,  "would  you  mind  going  away? 
Mrs.  Harbour's  here,  but  she  can't  come  to  you!  She 
can't  see  anybody,  not  just  now."  Then  he  shut  the  door 
quickly,  and  heard,  with  relief,  the  sound  of  departing 
feet ;  and  the  steadily  continued  rhythm  of  the  abridged 
litany  was  almost  as  music  to  his  ears. 

He  sat  back  meekly  in  his  chair,  and  endured  gladly 
what  little  had  to  follow,  having  averted  the  larger  catas- 
trophe. A  rebuke  for  his  presumption  he  could  scarcely 
hope  to  escape ;  but  had  a  thought  to  mitigate  its  severity. 

So  when  Mrs.  Harbour  closed  the  well-thumbed  book 
and  shuffled  to  her  feet,  Tristram  led. 


MYTH,    RITUAL,    AND    RELIGION      85 

"  Nannie,"  said  he,  "  while  you  were  saying  your 
prayers,  some  one  came  and  knocked  at  the  door ;  so  I 
asked  them  to  go  away  and  not  disturb  you.  I  might, 
mightn't  I  ?     And  they  went." 

The  charming  assumption  that  her  rapt  mind  had  been 
oblivious  to  things  earthly  secured  its  object.  Mrs. 
Harbour  winked  within  her  honest  old  heart  at  the  cheat- 
ing flattery  of  his  tongue,  and  loved  the  lad  for  a  soft- 
voiced  rogue.  The  squirrel-motions  of  his  small  body, 
as  her  fat  hands  played  on  it  with  the  measuring-tape, 
wrought  pleasure  in  her  enough  to  last  that  day,  and 
many  days  after.  She  babbled  to  him  wondrously  of 
warm  "  flannens  "  (her  own  word  for  linings),  and  of 
bright  buttons  to  be  put  on  the  legs  and  sleeves  of  the 
"  filleteens  "  she  was  to  make  for  him :  heard  from  him 
while  discussing  pockets,  complaint  about  the  lost  two- 
pence, and  conjured  it  back  to  him  out  of  her  own  small 
store,  greatly  to  the  child's  mystification  and  delight. 
And  did  he  love  her  still,  and  remember  she  was  his  old 
Nan-nan?  she  enquired,  then,  for  a  reward.  Indeed  she 
believed  so,  when  his  arms  went  round  her,  when  the 
stress  of  present  emotion  was  persuading  him  that  his 
dear  Nannie,  was  dearest  but  one  to  him  in  the  whole 
world. 

So  they  parted ;  and  it  was  only  natural,  perhaps,  for 
a  light  weight  in  years  such  as  he,  to  carry  much  more 
of  her  heart  away  with  him  than  he  left  behind  of  his.  Is 
he  for  that  to  be  set  down  as  fickle  ? 

At  least  he  had  memory  enough  to  go  and  spend  Mar- 
cia's  recovered  twopence  at  the  small  green-grocer's  in 
Brook  Street ;  and  greatly  did  he  surprise  the  shop- 
woman  by  enquiring  if  Mr.  Harbage  were  better,  or  had 
found  doctors  to  suit  him  yet ;  a  courtesy,  in  small  coin 
and  speech,  which  all  came  from  Mrs.  Harbour's  late 
getting  up  that  morning,  and  was  in  its  small  degree  an 
answer,  one  may  suppose,  to  the  good  woman's  prayer. 


86  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

And  here,  in  a  chapter  already  out  at  elbows  in  its 
motley  of  incidents,  may  be  set  down  a  final  sample  of  that 
strain  of  credulous  fancy  never  quite  separate  from  the 
running  of  Tristram's  blood.  It  is  the  plain  pike-staff 
story  already  promised  to  the  reader,  and  must  stand, 
unconnected  even  as  it  stood  in  Tristram's  life,  a  mere 
freak  out  of  the  fermentation  of  his  brain. 

Deep  in  the  wilderness  above  the  Valley  House,  in  the 
midst  of  a  dense  overgrowth  of  privet  and  laurel,  Tris- 
tram came  one  day  upon  an  old  post  set  upright  in  the 
ground.  Remnants  of  red  paint  showed  bleached  and 
blistered  on  its  surface ;  about  the  base  there  were  signs 
of  fire ;  no  path  led  up  to  it.  Round  it  the  laurels  had  left 
a  space  as  fearing  to  close  in  on  it.  So  standing  in  leafy 
secrecy,  for  no  purpose  that  could  be  seen,  the  thing 
seemed  merely  to  be  there  in  the  assertion  of  its  own 
existence.  Once  found,  it  drew  Tristram  day  after  day 
to  ponder  the  mystery  of  its  presence :  it  took  on  an 
aspect  of  age  pre-historic,  of  lurking  forces,  of  malignant 
capacities. 

Slowly  its  meaning  grew :  why  it  had  stood  there  so 
long,  and  remained  there  so  secretly,  bidding,  beckoning, 
and  warning  with  uplifted  finger,  requiring  a  certain  wor- 
shipper, who  had  never  come,  to  render  the  necessary 
homage.    Tristram  could  name  him. 

He  began  to  divine  certain  things  this  god  had  required 
of  him,  and  to  dread  penalties  ready  to  fall  on  him  for 
all  the  years  wherein  he  had  ignorantly  let  observance 
go  by.  It  was  borne  in  on  him  that  for  every  day  of  his 
life  one  full  circuit  round  this  perch  of  divinity  was 
owing;  and  that  for  his  long  neglect  of  service  so  deeply 
in  arrears  speediest  atonement  was  necessary.  How 
many  days  had  he  lived  ignorant  of  this  godhead?  He 
questioned  his  Aunt  Doris,  and  heard  that  the  number 
of  them  was  more  than  one  thousand,  more  than  two,  not 


MYTH,    RITUAL,    AND    RELIGION      87 

more  than  three.  Between  two  and  three  thousand,  then. 
He  started  to  work  off  the  reckoning. 

Will  you  behold  a  fellow-creature,  with  a  full  sense  of 
humour  in  him,  walking  round  and  round  a  post  solemnly 
by  the  hour,  and  day  after  day,  for  the  purpose  of  avert- 
ing an  unknown  evil  chance  ?  And  believe  him  probable 
or  not,  there  he  is ;  you  have  to  stomach  him.  A  sincere 
devotee  he  is  too,  yet  if  he  finds  you  looking  at  him, 
will  shrivel  and  shrink  at  the  discovery,  and  under  the 
oppression  of  your  judgment,  swear  that  he  knows  the 
whole  thing  to  be  folly. 

By  dint  of  hard  labour,  Tristram  had  achieved  a  clear 
conscience  toward  his  new  deity,  when  one  day  quite 
suddenly  the  malicious  power  sprung  a  surprise  on  him. 
All  those  laps  of  worship  had  been  wound  on  the  wrong 
way ;  going  from  right  to  left,  he  should  have  gone  from 
left  to  right!  Conviction  took  hold  of  him  grimly;  his 
labour  had  been  worse  than  useless,  a  very  negation  of 
worship:  what  he  had  thought  to  be  praise  had  really 
been  insult. 

There  was  only  one  thing  to  do.  Penitently  he  un- 
wound the  work  of  his  crude  noviciate,  and  penitently 
wound  it  on  again  the  right  way,  trusting  that  his  deity 
would  yet  be  patient  with  him  till  he  had  found  out  the 
true  and  orthodox  ritual  of  post-reverence. 

His  heart  grew  in  jealous  affection  for  his  tormentor. 
When  he  had  honourably  paid  his  debt  he  rendered  gra- 
tuitous service ;  he  larded  with  flowers  the  uprightness  he 
bowed  down  to ;  he  offered  to  his  idol  with  a  free  con- 
science windfalls  that  for  his  own  eating  he  would  not 
have  taken,  and  poured  out  in  libation  the  collected  dregs 
of  wine-bottles.  Something  of  prudence  no  doubt  was 
in  this  piety :  by  advance  offerings  of  circuitous  worship 
he  laid  up  store  in  Heaven,  foreseeing  that  some  day  he 
might  be  absent  or  ill,  and  in  time  to  come  might  go  away 


88  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

for  good,  never  to  return  ;  yet  the  Post  would  still  be 
demanding  its  daily  circuit  so  long  as  his  life  continued. 
Therefore  did  he  now  push  forward  his  stewardship  of 
the  mysteries  that  in  the  years  ahead  he  might  stand 
blameless,  with  a  consciousness  of  duties  fully  per- 
formed. 

One  day  he  saw  that  upon  the  top  of  his  post  were  bird- 
droppings,  a  natural  defilement  which  displeased  his 
sense  of  the  reverence  owed  there.  To  prevent  the  dese- 
cration he  secured  a  straw  bottle-sheath,  and  fitted  it  to 
the  post ;  and  behold !  an  old  symbol  of  sun-worship, 
blindly,  fortuitously  attained.  And  round  this  for  many 
days  and  months  Tristram  gyrated  in  the  performance  of 
heliotropic  mysteries,  satisfying  to  his  heart ;  till  on  a 
day  of  festival,  as  he  grovelled  ceremoniously,  he  chanced 
to  look  up,  and  beheld  with  dismay  the  solemn  great  eyes 
of  Marcia  staring  at  him. 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE    ROD    THAT    BUDDED 

A  LL  through  the  summer  and  autumn  of  that  year  the 
"^^  Doris-days  extended,  shaping  a  golden  memory 
for  all  concerned.  Their  only  drawback  was  that  they 
passed  so  quickly,  bearing  with  them  in  their  retreat  irrev- 
ocable delights.  The  lady  herself  was  too  conscious  of 
their  fleeting  character  not  to  feel  it  so.  When  crocus 
and  fruit-blossom,  laburnum  and  peony  died  against  the 
warming  heart  of  the  season's  life,  she  watched  them  go 
with  a  wonder  whether  she  had  ever  before  found  them 
so  fair,  and  with  a  quickened  sense  of  the  autumnal  mood 
which  the  year  holds  for  ever  in  its  blood. 

She  had  taught  the  children  her  own  love  of  gardening, 
and  to  keep  them  in  good  countenance  became  the  pro- 
prietor of  ground  close  to  theirs,  which  no  hands  but  her 
own  might  plant  or  water.  The  gardener  himself  was 
supposed  to  share  with  the  children  their  envy  of  the 
beauty  of  "  Auntie  Dome's  garden."  Flowers  from  it 
stood  on  birthday  breakfast-tables,  and  in  their  fragrant 
depths  held  offerings  which  were  doubly  delightful, 
sprung  from  such  floral  foldings. 

Tristram  helped  himself  to  a  large  measure  of  earth, 
and  gave  up  most  of  it  to  romantic  experiments,  of  which 
nothing  remained  in  the  years  after  but  a  fig  tree  and  a 
plantation  of  foxglove  that  throve  rankly  when  neglect 

89 


90  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

became  their  portion.  His  weakness  was  to  bring  in 
wild  things  from  his  walks,  and  give  them  a  rich  soil  to 
live  in.  The  others  named  it  his  weed-garden.  "  At 
least  it  keeps  him  dirty !  "  said  Doris,  as  though  that  in 
itself  were  a  craving  of  his  nature,  good  to  be  satisfied. 

Marcia  let  her  ground  go  to  the  flowers  that  pleased 
her  mother's  fancy  :  to  mignonette,  over  which  she  claimed 
a  monopoly,  to  periwinkle,  and  bright,  velvet-eyed  sweet- 
williams,  and  white  pinks,  and  the  rock-loving  valerian : 
all  these  were  serviceable  to  her  purpose:  she  was  jealous 
against  imitation.  In  their  several  ways  the  three  gar- 
dens flourished  ;  but  even  Marcia  had  to  admit  that  Auntie 
Dorrie's  stood  unrivalled,  though  liking  her  own  better. 

During  a  fortnight  of  dry  summer  weather  Doris, 
having  to  be  away,  left  her  garden  in  Tristram's  hands. 
He  performed  the  task  faithfully  and  with  humility,  en- 
tering upon  no  freakish  experiment  of  his  own ;  and  upon 
her  return  presented  her  to  nurslings,  whose  bloom  of 
life  satisfied  even  her  exacting  requirements. 

She  said  to  the  boy  lightly,  handling  his  hair  with  small 
pulls  to  get  at  his  attention,  "  Will  you  look  after  it,  then, 
always,  whenever  I  am  away?    Always?" 

He  was  for  promising  straight  off. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  want  promises,"  she  said ;  "  you  might 
break  them.  But  I  would  like  you  to ;  so  remember  it !  " 
She  gave  his  hair  a  parting  tug,  and  raced  him  to  get  first 
at  the  big  watering-can.  "  I've  beaten  Auntie  Dorrie!  " 
he  cried  out  in  triumph  to  Marcia.  It  was  an  event  to 
have  done  that. 

Those  days  that  rippled  with  the  flowing  charm  of  her 
companionship  wrote  themselves  happy  ones  on  the  tablets 
of  two  memories,  and  made  quiet  history  better  than 
eventful  to  look  back  upon. 

One  afternoon,  in  the  warm  glows  of  middle  autumn, 
the  Sage  came  on  them  by  surprise.     He  had  taken  a 


THE    ROD    THAT    BUDDED  91 

good  part  of  the  day  to  arrive,  driving  a  quaint  shandry- 
dan of  his  own  through  the  country  lanes,  and  was  the 
more  pleased  with  himself  in  consequence.  He  declared 
that  he  felt  fit  and  morally  braced  through  having  avoided 
fifteen  miles  of  railway  —  a  living  creature  instead  of  a 
thing  ignominiously  shoved  and  shunted  from  place  to 
place,  mere  parcel  with  ticket  attached  —  label  he  chose 
to  call  it  —  needing  to  be  classed  also,  first,  second,  or 
third  —  an  indignity  to  himself  or  his  fellow-passengers 
—  lowering,  he  declared,  to  any  man's  conscience.  In  a 
word,  having  ridden  his  hobby  for  over  four  hours,  he 
was  slow  to  get  off  it  again.  At  the  end  of  all  his  sweet 
crabby  nonsense,  he  was  forced  to  own  apologetically  that 
as  he  had  so  come,  they  must  put  up  with  him  for  the 
night. 

Doris  dropped  him  a  low  curtsey  and  leaned  her  face 
for  a  salute,  understanding  the  gentle  amorousness  of  his 
regard.  Her  ways  of  welcome  made  it  so  easy  for  him 
to  forget  that  he  was  a  celebrity  at  all.  She  loved  the  gar- 
rulous quaint  foolishness  to  which  he  gave  way  when  in 
privacy,  and  was  ever  at  intrigue  to  get  more  of  it. 

"And  where  is  the  Tramp?"  was  his  question,  when 
greetings  to  the  two  sisters  were  over.  "  Not  run  away 
again,  I  hope?  " 

Doris  thought  it  likely,  since  he  was  not  in  sight,  nor 
to  be  heard  of ;  and  declared  that  she  believed  him  to  be 
always  on  the  verge  of  it.  "  I  have  but  to  speak  of  you," 
she  said,  "  to  see  the  wandering  fever  take  hold  of  him." 

"  And  I,"  replied  the  Sage,  "  never  go  out,  but  I  leave 
word  with  my  housekeeper  to  hold  him  till  my  return ;  so 
confidently  am  I  expecting  him  some  day  or  another ! 
But  the  anniversary  is  past ;  I  look  now  for  some  change 
of  the  wind  to  bring  him.  I  prophesy  to  you,  Madam,  of 
times  when  you  will  not  be  able  to  hold  him  at  a  stand- 
still.   Tether  him,  and  like  a  kite  he'll  strain ;  loose  him, 


92  A    MODERN     ANTAEUS 

and  he  comes  to  earth.  Let  him  feel  free,  and  he  will 
twizzle  on  one  leg  and  keep  happy." 

Mrs.  Gavney  did  not  see  why  Tristram  should  not  be 
settled  and  happy  with  all  the  liberty  he  had.  The  mere 
talk  of  him  running  away  distressed  her.  She  believed 
him  more  docile  and  obedient  than  the  others  would  allow, 
and  cited  his  gentle  ways  with  her  as  proof  how  easily  he 
could  be  made  domestic  and  governable. 

'  I  have  only  to  speak  quietly  to  him,"  she  said  with  a 
hint  of  superior  wisdom.  And  the  fact  was  true  if  the 
inference  was  not. 

"  All  the  same,"  said  Doris,  "  some  fine  day  he  will  run ! 
He  will  come  back  again,  dear,"  she  added.  '  You  need 
never  be  anxious  for  him." 

But  Mrs.  Gavney  had  a  mother's  belief  in  her  own  in- 
tuition, and  would  not  let  go  her  claim  to  know  better. 
"  You  talk,"  was  her  complaint,  "  as  if  we  had  some  wild 
animal  in  the  family !  " 

"  If  I  showed  him  to  you  in  one  of  his  dishevelments, 
you  would  think  so !  "  said  Doris. 

"  Then,  surely,  we  should  now  be  training  him,"  said 
her  sister. 

"  Not  to  be  tame,"  thought  Doris. 

"  Not  to  be  a  wild  animal,"  maintained  Mrs.  Gavney. 

Doris  imagined  she  saw  combinations  which  made  the 
thing  lovable. 

"  I  pray  that  he  may  be  neither  wild  nor  animal !  "  cried 
the  elder  sister,  casting  timorous  thoughts  toward  the  pro- 
pensities of  youth. 

"  Now  there,"  broke  in  the  Sage,  "  is  why  the  phrase 
frightens  you !  You  damn  the  words  separately,  and 
doubly  damn  them  in  company,  letting  the  adjective  act 
on  the  noun  like  a  red  rag  on  a  bull.  Separate  them  fairly, 
and  see  if  they  may  not  become  innocent.  To  be  animal 
one  needs  not  to  be  bestial;  and  to  be  wild  means  to  be 


THE    ROD    THAT    BUDDED  93 

unharnessed  rather  than  savage.  That  boy  of  yours  now 
—  I  take  the  wild  in  him  first :  call  him  wild,  if  you  will, 
as  wind-flowers,  clover,  and  the  breath  March  are  wild ; 
or  as  the  wild  bee  who  makes  honey  as  sweetly  and  in- 
dustriously as  the  one  we  hive  and  take  toll  from.  He 
may  be  wild  as  a  bird's  notes  are,  which  contain  trills  our 
trained  voices  cannot  equal,  or  as  water  which  runs  pure 
on  its  native  hillside.  Have  you  any  fear  of  such  wild 
things  as  these  that  your  boy  must  not  be  like  them?  " 

"  I  would  prefer  to  see  even  his  best  qualities  disci- 
plined," demurred  Mrs.  Gavney. 

"  By  their  own  laws!  "  the  Sage  assented.  '  They  will 
be :  these  they  live  by.  Dew,  and  song,  and  sunlight,  and 
cloud  are  all  wild  things  untamable  by  man.  Though  you 
can  sadden  the  lark's  song  by  caging  it,  you  cannot  re- 
shape it  to  your  liking.  Would  you  wish  to?  It  is  the 
wildness  that  springs  eternal  out  of  Nature's  unspoiled 
beauty.  It  rose  up  before  the  Fall,  and  came  unchanged 
to  us  out  of  Eden,  and  remains  divine.  There  is  another 
wildness,  wanton  and  predatory,  that  comes  of  deformity ; 
where  creation  groans  you  find  it ;  in  likeness  to  that,  man 
becomes  base.  But  apart  from  that,  to  be  wild  is  not  to  be 
libertine ;  while  to  be  tame  can  seldom  mean  to  be  free. 
What  do  you  think,  madam?  " 

Mrs.  Gavney  replied,  with  an  unintended  touch  of 
irony,  "  I  think,  dear  Professor,  that  you  have  been  talk- 
ing poetry." 

Doris  laughed.  "  And  I  know,"  said  she,  "  what 
Anna's  definition  of  poetry  would  be :  something  beauti- 
ful, which  we  know  not  to  be  true.  For  my  part,  I  accept 
my  Tramp's  wildness  on  those  terms  with  a  whole  heart ; 
it  is  the  foundation  to  start  from.  Now,  for  the  animal 
in  him  ;  will  you  not  expound  that  also?  " 

The  Sage  answered :  "  The  poetry  for  that,  Madam,  is 
in  the  word  itself ;  I  have  merely  to  be  etymological.    For 


94  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

'  animal  '  —  what  is  it  but  the  name  of  the  soul  in  the  most 
durable  language  on  earth,  linked  into  daily  use  by  the 
softest  letter  of  our  alphabet.  When  the  animal  body 
dies,  'tis  but  a  single  letter  of  its  nature  that  perishes ;  its 
accident  vanishes,  '  anima,'  the  substance,  lives.  Man 
bulks  but  by  reason  of  the  breath  of  life,  breathed  into  his 
nostrils  by  God ;  as  the  wind-bag  shrivels  to  a  small  thing 
when  the  air  is  out  of  it,  so  the  corruptible  body ;  'tis  a 
microscopic  part  of  us,  grass  cut  down  ;  only  when  it  stood 
up  and  was  filled  with  the  breath  of  Heaven,  had  it  the 
stature  and  the  fulness  of  a  man.  Animal  to  me  says 
soul ;  and  death,  I  believe,  holds  a  far  smaller  kingdom 
in  us  than  appears :  the  symbols  of  our  quickening  lie 
everywhere." 

The  Sage  put  forth  the  faith  that  was  in  him  with  some 
fervency,  and  while  he  did  so  noted  how  the  two  sisters 
with  eyes  that  met  in  wavering  and  tender  enquiry,  were 
each  at  gaze  into  the  other's  thoughts.  The  significance 
of  that  silent  correspondence  of  the  two  faces  was  not 
missed  by  him ;  intuitively  he  read  a  meaning.  "  Adieu, 
adieu,  oh,  adieu,  dear  Beloved;  think  me  not  gone  when  I 
am !  "  the  looks  of  one  seemed  to  say ;  and  where  regards 
of  affection  and  grief  so  equal  were  exchanged,  it  was  but 
natural  that  he  should  misread  the  giver  for  the  receiver. 
So  it  was  the  elder  lady  his  mind  fixed  on  ;  and  he  thought 
compassionately,  how  natural  was  her  dread,  even  of  the 
small  running  away  on  Tristram's  part  with  which  they 
had  playfully  threatened  her.  Watching  the  frail,  languid 
figure,  he  wondered  if  only  a  few  months  or  a  whole  year 
remained  to  a  life  destined  to  last  for  twentv. 

Doris  spoke  out  of  reverie :  "  Your  mention  of  bees  in 
reference  to  Tristram,  reminds  me;  he  has  them  in  his 
bonnet  to  a  certainty.  I  found  him  the  other  day  at  the 
hives,  handling  them  as  they  went  in  and  out.  And  an 
odd  thing  he  had  to  say !  — '  Don't  touch  me,   Auntie 


THE    ROD    THAT    BUDDED  95 

Dorrie,  or  they'll  sting ! '  —  himself,  not  me.  He  owned 
to  having  been  stung,  but  very  seldom;  and  when  that 
happens,  what  do  you  think  he  does?  He  runs  till  he 
drops,  and  assures  me  that  then  all  the  pain  has  gone  out 
of  him." 

"  There,"  remarked  the  Sage,  "  do  you  behold  the  true 
animal :  the  '  anima,'  the  breath  of  its  life  relieving  it  of 
its  humours.  Pain  and  disease  come  mainly  from  dwell- 
ing on  them.  Death  itself,  without  man's  morbid  dread 
of  it,  might  be  staved  off  till  the  day  when  it  was  desired. 
It  is  said  that  snake-bitten  natives  are  beaten  to  divert 
their  attention  ;  if  it  is  done  sufficiently,  they  don't  die. 
You  must  go  on  according  to  the  receipt  for  the  pig  and 
the  Amblongas  patties  —  '  If  he  squeals,  beat  him  again  !  ' 
But,  'tis  melancholy,  if  after  a  beating  they  do  die !  Dare 
one  risk  such  a  thing  on  one's  conscience  as  to  have  beaten 
a  man  through  his  last  moments  ?  " 

"  Oh,  my  dear  Professor,"  complained  Doris,  "  why  do 
you  always  give  practical  doctrine  such  a  sad  wind-up? 
Put  sins  for  snake  bites  —  now  I  shall  never  be  able  to 
beat  the  Tramp  for  any  of  his  sins,  lest,  through  my  noi 
beating  him  enough,  he  should  die  in  them !  " 

"  Never  beat  for  the  deadly  sins,  and  you  will  be  safe," 
answered  the  Sage.  "  Beat  for  the  lesser  ones,  and  a 
short  beating  won't  matter." 

"But  do  you  ever  have  to  beat  him,  my  dear?"  en- 
quired Mrs.  Gavney ;  whereat  Doris  and  the  Sage  broke 
into  merry  laughter,  which  put  an  end  to  the  matter  of 
their  present  discussion. 

Tristram  was  not  then  to  be  found ;  only  Marcia,  who 
for  once  was  gracious  to  the  old  man,  and  took  him  to  see 
their  gardens.  He  praised  hers  for  what  he  called  its  con- 
tented veracity ;  Doris's  he  named  the  garden  of  a  soul ; 
he  flattered  it  by  saying  that  Dante  and  Beatrice  should 
meet  there.    Doris  owned  that  she  had  found  footmarks, 


96  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

and  had  consolation  now  for  the  loss  of  a  few  roses. 
Viewing  the  Tramp's  portion,  the  Sage  said,  "  I  think  he 
wants  the  beating !  "  It  showed  a  dry  soil,  the  result  of 
a  week's  neglect. 

"  It's  my  fault,"  said  Marcia,  and  when  asked  how, 

threw  out  her  hands  with  a  forlorn  show  of  indifference. 

'While  I'm  here  he  won't  come!"  she  explained,  and 

added,  "  we  are  having  a  quarrel,  and  it's  not  finished ; 

and  Trampy  says  he  hates  me !  " 

When  hunger  and  the  tea-hour  called  him,  the  Tramp 
turned  up  from  a  place  which  he  defined  as  "  Oh,  no- 
where." He  was  very  abashed  to  find  that  he  had  missed 
two  hours  of  the  Sage's  company.  They  had  much  to  say 
to  each  other  then,  but  talk  did  not  flow  with  quite  the 
uninterrupted  gaiety  of  previous  occasions.  The  Sage 
watched  him  thoughtfully. 

The  next  day,  after  their  visitor  had  departed,  Tris- 
tram, the  godless,  chanced  to  roam  by  the  gardens  where 
Marcia  was  at  work,  and  saw  that  his  own  had  been  tam- 
pered with. 

"  What  have  you  been  doing  to  my  garden  ?  "  he  de- 
manded. It  had  been  raked  to  a  neat  surface,  and  in  one 
corner  stood  something  to  represent  an  olive-branch,  lift- 
ing up  its  green  head  and  arms  to  him. 

"  I've  not  touched  it !  "  said  Marcia,  and  walked  away. 

"  No?  "  he  muttered  in  retort,  to  gratify  his  own  ears: 
"then  you  did  it  without  touching;  that's  all!"  And 
hardening  himself,  he  pulled  up  the  little  emblem  of 
peace,  cast  it  across  on  to  Marcia's  border,  and  went  off 
to  nurse  his  demon  afresh. 

The  two  were  at  their  lessons  when  Doris  looked  in  on 
them  to  say,  "  Marcia,  have  you  been  touching  any  one's 
garden  but  your  own  ?  " 

'  I?  no!  "  said  Marcia.  surprised,  and  looked  across  to 
Tristram. 


THE    ROD    THAT    BUDDED  97 

"  Oh,  then  it's  all  right,"  was  Doris's  quiet  answer,  and 
she  went  away,  leaving  the  Tramp  a  very  nice  little  prob- 
lem to  think  out. 

Thinking  brought  him  near  to  the  facts,  and  he  passed 
the  next  two  hours  in  a  purgatory,  which  wrought  havoc 
on  his  marks  for  good  conduct  and  efficiency. 

On  the  instant  that  lessons  were  over  he  darted  off  to 
forestall  other  eyes,  and  reinstate  the  despised  olive- 
branch.  That  moral  emblem  was  nowhere  to  be  found. 
He  divined  a  hand ;  and  was  for  kissing  it  in  abject  peni- 
tence. 

Coming  to  Doris  with  a  face  of  sad  confusion,  he 
asked,  "  Auntie  Dorrie,  who  put  that  tree  into  my  gar- 
den?" 

And  she;  "  Who  pulled  it  out  again,  Trampy?" 

"  I  did,"  he  confessed. 

Said  Doris,  "  The  Professor  put  it  in." 

The  boy  looked  at  her  hard.     "  And  you?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  helped.  Your  garden  has  been  growing 
weedy.  We  thought  we  might  put  it  straight  for  you. 
Marcia  thought  not.    I  see  she  was  right." 

"  That's  the  worst  of  Marcia !  "  grumbled  the  boy. 
"  She  always  is  right." 

"  Then  if  she  was  right,  the  poor  Professor  and  I  have 
to  make  our  apologies." 

"No!"  he  contradicted,  "she  wasn't  right;  she  was 
wrong!  I  mean  she  has  got  a  nasty  way  of  being  right 
generally.    And  she  does  know  it  so,  too !  " 

'  Prove  her  wrong,  then,  this  once.     I  think  she  will 
forgive  you." 

The  boy's  demon  struggled  with  him  for  a  while :  then, 
"  Where  is  it?  "  he  said  at  last. 

"Where  is  what?" 

"  That  tree  thing." 

"You  want  it?" 


98  A    MODERN     ANTAEUS 

"  Yes,  Auntie,  you  know  I  do !  where  is  it,  please  ?  " 

"  Marcia  knows  already;  I  have  told  her,"  said  Doris. 
"  Do  you  want  me  to  show  it  to  you  ?  "  She  made  a  small 
pretence  of  being  occupied. 

"  No,  I'll  ask  Marcia !  "  said  the  Tramp,  and  started  to 
go  ;  then  returned  and  taking  her  hand,  "  come  with  me !  " 
he  pleaded. 

Her  willingness  had  its  reward :  she  was  witness  to  a 
pretty  ceremony,  of  which  she  wrote  word  to  the  Sage. 
"A  week's  quarrel!"  she  commented,  "all  on  his  side, 
I  believe,  this  time.  Think  of  the  evil  courage  and  the 
obstinacy,  to  make  such  a  thing  possible  in  a  creature 
of  his  years !  And  would  to  Heaven  that  all  quarrels 
ended  as  quickly  !  " 

"  So,"  wrote  the  Sage  in  reply,  "  you  have  been  beating 
him?" 

"  With  your  rod !  "  was  her  retort,  "  and  it  budded !  " 


CHAPTER  X 

THE     AFFLICTION     OF     MORALS 

V\7HEN  autumn  fell  into  its  chills,  the  Valley  House 
garden  whispered  all  day  with  the  fall  of  leaves. 
From  the  adjacent  woodland  more  drifted  in;  and  in 
every  nook  and  angle  of  the  walks  piled  a  great  waste 
and  litter  which  to  the  children  seemed  wealth. 

Doris  had  become  so  much  a  member  of  the  household, 
that  a  word  she  let  fall  as  she  watched  her  young  couple 
piling  a  storage  of  leaf-mould  for  their  gardens,  had  little 
meaning  to  their  ears. 

"  Tramp,"  she  said,  "  do  you  know  that  in  a  week  I 
shall  be  gone  ?  " 

The  boy  looked  up  and  said,  "Where?"  and,  "How 
long  for?"  nor  troubled  to  take  his  hands  off  his  work, 
thinking  so  little  could  be  meant. 

"  In  a  kind  of  way,  for  good,"  she  answered.  "  Not  to 
Little  Towberry ;  further  away  than  that." 

"Oh,  but  we  don't  want  you  to  go!"  objected  Tris- 
tram. 

"  Don't  want  to  go  myself,  silly  one !  It's  a  case  of 
'must'!" 

"  Why  ?  "  asked  the  boy. 

"  All  this  fall  of  the  leaf  doesn't  suit  me.  I  am  going 
to  hunt  the  summer,  and  suck  honey  by  the  sea." 

Hunt  the  summer !  The  phrase  brought  back  the  long 
delight  of  the  months  that  were  just  over.    She  had  been 

99 


ioo  A     MODERN     ANTAEUS 

goddess  to  them  through  the  green  of  the  year ;  wherever 
she  went,  it  seemed,  summer  would  go  with  her. 

'  I   wish    I   could   go,   too,   then,"   pleaded   Tristram. 
"  I've  never  seen  the  sea.    I  want  to !  " 

"  Come  and  lend  me  your  eyes,  then  !  "  she  invited  in 
sweet  tones ;  and  sat  down  on  a  bench,  making  a  lap  for 
him  to  climb  into.  '  Now  look,  and  tell  me  what 
colour?  " 

"  Blue,"  said  the  child. 

"  I  see  grey,"  she  returned ;  "  grey,  and  a  wheel  with  a 
squirrel  running  round  inside.  That's  my  Tramp.  Where 
does  a  squirrel  carry  its  memory,  Tramp?  In  its  eyes  or 
its  tail  ?  " 

His  eyes,  star-gazing  into  hers,  answered  for  him. 

"  Put  into  yours,  then,  the  colour  these  give  you ;  take 
a  long  look  and  remember !  Then  when  I'm  away  by  the 
sea,  think  of  these  two  poor  eyes  of  mine,  and  you  will 
have  sea-colour  to  think  of." 

"  Auntie,  why  are  you  crying?  "  asked  the  boy. 

"  Only  salt  water !  "  she  assured  him.  "  It  comes  of 
my  eyes  being  sea-like !  "  She  kissed  him  and  shook  him 
off,  while  he  hungered  not  to  be  let  go.  Tristram  re- 
membered afterwards  his  long  gaze  into  those  blues 
which  moistened  as  he  looked  at  them  ;  but  her  final  fare- 
well of  a  week  later  was  a  mere  good-night,  so  lightly 
spoken,  that  it  made  no  place  for  itself  in  his  memory. 
He  woke  the  morning  after  to  find  flowers  on  his  pillow, 
a  bunch  of  Japanese  anemones,  tied  to  a  note  in  Doris's 
handwriting,  that  bid  him  look  after  her  garden  while 
she  was  gone.  It  is  to  be  feared  that  after  the  first  fort- 
night he  rendered  but  a  fitful  obedience  to  her  request, 
thinking  more  of  the  sea  for  which  her  eyes  promised  to 
remain  an  emblem.  Before  long,  Marcia  was  to  be  found 
taking  up  his  unfulfilled  trust  and  keeping  to  reality 
things  which  under  his  handling  tended  so  soon  to  become 


THE    AFFLICTION     OF     MORALS     101 

a  dream.  By  no  word  would  she  ever  bring  herself  to 
admit  the  fondness  of  which  her  drudgery  gave  token; 
she  regarded  it  as  an  unruly  affection,  for  she  could  never 
entirely  rid  herself  of  a  jealousy  for  preference  in  a  heart 
where  Tristram  held  first  place :  though  with  her,  too, 
love  of  Tristram  came  first.  To  console  herself,  she  was 
keen  to  claim  a  rival  ownership.  "  Aunt  Doris  belongs  to 
Trampy,"  she  explained  to  her  governess  one  day; 
"  Mother  belongs  to  me."  For  ideal  content  she  must 
have  all  three  as  her  belongings. 

Following  upon  the  Doris  regime  came  that  of  Miss 
Julia  Gavney,  of  which  there  is  in  the  beginning  less  to  be 
told.  The  children  were  now  more  with  their  governess, 
whose  daily  comings  and  goings  were  changed  into  resi- 
dence when  Doris  was  no  longer  at  hand  to  take  charge 
of  their  leisure. 

Winter  settled  down  and  brought  with  it  discontent  to 
both,  but  especially  to  Tristram.  Letters  from  Doris,  full 
of  the  South  and  sunshine,  came  to  cheer  them  at  inter- 
vals through  a  penitential  season.  Without  a  companion 
who  could  go  at  the  stretch  they  wished,  and  safely  con- 
duct their  energies  to  exhaustion,  there  was  no  doubt  the 
children  ran  into  mischief ;  or,  to  be  exact,  one  ran,  and 
one,  out  of  loyalty,  followed. 

Tristram  measured  out  his  miles  by  the  rod  that  sought 
to  rule  him.  :'  Let's  invent  something !  "  he  would  say, 
not  meaning  the  invention  to  be  altogether  innocent :  and 
would  collect  his  thoughts,  for  some  doing  more  scatter- 
brained than  that  for  which  he  had  last  been  punished. 
Miss  Gavney  reflected  adversely  on  a  supervision  which 
could  have  allowed  the  boy  to  get  so  out  of  hand.  There 
was  discontent  all  round. 

Tristram  also  found  a  subtle  change  taking  place  in 
Marcia :  her  loyalty  to  him  grew  strained  when  she  saw 
him  plunging  into  escapades  merely  that  he  might  make 


102  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

himself  a  spectacle  distressing  to  the  authority  at  home. 
Not  all  at  once,  but  gradually,  he  discovered  under  all  her 
staunchness  that  she  harboured  disapproval  of  his  doings ; 
at  times  she  stuck  her  heels  dead  into  the  ground,  refus- 
ing to  join  his  vagrancies. 

One  day,  hearing  that  ice  bore  on  the  smaller  of 
the  two  ponds  in  the  Hill  Alwyn  woods,  he  proposed 
forthwith  to  go  skating.  The  promise  had  been  given 
them  of  a  free  day  so  soon  as  the  ice  should  prove  safe 
enough.  Here  was  the  occasion  ;  of  the  ice  he  had  no 
doubts,  of  immediate  permission  he  had :  better,  he 
thought,  to  go  first  and  find  out  afterwards  if  full  leave 
had  been  granted. 

"  Eut  is  it  safe  yet?  "  queried  Marcia. 

Tristram  affirmed  that  it  was :  young  John  Tunny  had 
been  there  at  hockey  with  other  lads  heavier  than  himself, 
and  the  ice  had  borne  them. 

"  Who  let  them  in  there,  though  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Nobody.  They  were  chevied  off  by  the  bailiff ;  but 
we'd  go  to  the  lodge  and  get  leave." 

Marcia  said:  "  I  don't  think  we  were  meant  to  go  on  to 
the  Hill  Alwyn  ponds  at  all." 

"  But  it's  all  the  ice  there  is !  "  argued  Tristram.  "  Old 
Grey  at  the  mill  breaks  his  up  every  morning  with  a  punt, 
because  he  says  mill-ice  isn't  safe." 

Marcia  was  curt.    "  I  shan't  go !  "  she  said. 

"  Then  I  shall !  "  retorted  the  boy  at  once. 

"  You'd  better  ask  first." 

"  I  shan't  do  that  either :  Aunt  Julie's  cross  with  me 
this  morning,  and  would  say  no,  out  of  spite." 

"  Ask  mother,  then  !  " 

"  She's  frightened  of  ice  until  it's  a  foot  thick,  and 
would  fancy  we  were  going  to  be  drowned  all  the  time. 
Come  on  !  Miss  Binning  can  only  keep  us  in  some  other 
day ;  and  it  may  be  all  gone,  by  then." 


THE    AFFLICTION     OF    MORALS     103 

The  discussion  ended  with  Marcia  going  in  to  lessons 
and  Tristram  off  by  himself.  He  was  right  about  the 
ice ;  but  got  less  enjoyment  than  he  had  hoped.  Marcia 
had  put  an  effective  damper  upon  his  morning's  pleasure, 
merely  by  sitting  at  home  and  submitting  herself  to  stale 
duty's  call.  The  bailiff  came  and  looked  at  him,  and 
asked  how  he  got  in  there.  "  I  asked  at  the  lodge,"  said 
Tristram. 

"  That's  not  enough,"  objected  the  sub-magnate;  "  you 
should  have  come  to  me."  But,  as  he  was  there,  he  let 
him  stay.  "  If  any  one  comes  down  from  the  House, 
though,  you  must  be  off,"  said  the  bailiff.  "  This  is  pri- 
vate :  only  those  who  have  keys  are  supposed  to  come." 

The  vicar  of  Little  Alwyn  had  a  key,  Tristram  knew ; 
he  wondered  why  his  father  had  not  also.  The  Valley 
House  was  bigger  than  the  Vicarage,  and  they  were 
nearer  neighbours. 

About  noon  Raymond  Hannam,  the  vicar's  son,  turned 
up,  and  cried  "  Hullo !  "  on  seeing  him.  He  was  a  big 
lad  three  years  Tristram's  senior.  Hitherto  they  had 
hardly  met  but  in  church,  where  they  had  exchanged  nods 
and  tokens  of  outside  interests  over  the  edges  of  their  re- 
spective pews.  The  Tramp  inclined  toward  friendship 
with  one  who  held  a  free  pass  to  those  solitudes  of  wood 
and  water.  He  drew  up  and  watched  the  other  putting 
on  his  skates.  They  swung  away  together ;  Tristram's 
blades  kept  time ;  he  dropped  behind  that  he  might  see 
and  imitate  the  other's  action.  With  a  big  heart  he 
shouted  "  I'll  race  you !  "  and  shot  out,  just  to  see. 

"  Where  to?  "  was  demanded. 

"  Anywhere  !  "  he  cried. 

"  Round  the  island  and  back?  "    • 

They  raced :  Tristram  was  easily  beaten. 

;'  I'll  give  you  a  start,"  said  Raymond.  Tristram  was 
too  proud  to  take  all  that  was  offered  him.    They  raced 


104  A    MODERN     ANTAEUS 

again ;  toward  the  end  it  was  neck  and  neck  for  a  while ; 
Tristram  was  just  beaten. 

"  How  long  have  you  been  learning?  "  young  Hannam 
enquired  in  a  friendly  way. 

"  Last  year,"  answered  Tristram. 

"  Not  half  bad  !  "  commented  the  other.    "  You'll  do !  " 

Finding  himself  approved  the  Tramp  said,  "  My  Aunt 
Doris  taught  me;  she  taught  Marcia,  too.  She  could 
beat  you,  she  could  !  " 

Raymond  refrained  from  direct  contradiction.  "  Can 
she  do  this?  "  he  queried,  and  executed  a  flourish. 

"There's  nothing  she  can't  do!"  declared  Tristram 
stoutly. 

"  Oh,  that's  all  nonsense!  "  retorted  the  other;  "  a  man 
can  always  do  more  than  a  woman  can."  This  was  news 
to  Tristram ;  he  contested  the  point  doggedly,  and  was 
left  unconvinced. 

The  boys  glided  into  a  quick  liking  for  each  other's 
society  as  their  feet  buzzed  up  and  down  those  clear  soli- 
tudes of  frost,  where  thwarted  reflections  of  hoar  beech- 
wood  lay  shadowing  the  crusted  surface  like  dryad-ghosts 
hankering  for  a  dip.  Raymond  Hannam  had  brought 
sandwiches,  and  offered  a  share  to  Tristram,  improvident 
in  his  truancy.  They  sat  down  on  the  island  to  eat. 
Overhead  the  Tramp  spied  a  solitary  heron's  nest ;  Ray- 
mond said  he  had  seen  the  young  ones.  "  In  the  sum- 
mer," he  explained,  "  I  come  here  then  to  swim.  I  can't 
do  that  next  year  though  ;  not  till  the  holidays.  I  shall  be 
going  to  a  big  school  then :  that'll  be  instead  of  Bern- 
bridge.     I  shall  like  a  public  school  better." 

Tristram  said:  "  What  are  they  like?  " 

"  Schools?"  queried  Raymond. 

"  No,"  corrected  Tristram.  "  Herons,  I  meant:  young 
ones  like  those  you  saw." 

The  other  only  remembered  that  they  had  feathers,  and 


THE    AFFLICTION     OF    MORALS     105 

were  much  like  the  older  birds ;  he  could  give  no  nearer 
description.  About  big  schools  he  had  much  more  to  say. 
There  were  more  games  there,  more  larks,  more  fighting 
than  in  smaller  schools.  Rowing  and  swimming  were 
what  he  liked  best.  He  talked  as  if  the  brink  of  the 
wTorld  were  before  him  :  just  a  jump  and  he  would  be  in  it. 

Tristram  thought  him  a  wonderfully  fine  fellow ;  three 
years'  seniority  made  him  almost  grown  up  in  the  small 
boy's  eyes.  At  parting  Raymond  asked  whether  he  was 
for  coming  again  another  day. 

Tristram  answered:  "  Yes,  to-morrow,  if  they'll  let  me 
out.  I  ran  away  from  lessons  to  come  here,"  he  ex- 
plained, and  was  not  the  worse  thought  of  for  that. 

He  came  home  famished,  just  before  dark,  and  received 
the  discipline  of  bed  and  dry  fare,  as  a  natural  wind-up  to 
the  experiences  of  the  day.  Marcia  stole  up  to  him  after 
dark,  and  snuggling  under  an  eider-down  from  the  cold 
heard  him  loud  in  the  praises  of  his  new  friend. 

"  He's  ever  so  big  and  strong,"  cried  the  boy  ecstati- 
cally. "  He  could  knock  down  a  man  easily.  He  calls 
me  Tramp,  and  he  says  I'm  to  call  him  Ray;  and  he's 
coming  here,  too,  and  I'm  to  go  and  see  him.  I  say, 
Marcia,  you  will  like  him !  You'll  come  to-morrow,  won't 
you?  Can't  he  skate,  too!  What  did  Miss  Binning  say 
when  she  found  I  was  gone?  " 

"  She  asked  where  you  were." 

"  And  what  did  you  say  ?  " 

"  I  said  I  didn't  know.  I  didn't  —  not  just  then;  and 
she  never  thought  of  asking  where  you  were  going  to,  so 
I  hadn't  to  say  that." 

Marcia,  it  may  be  gathered  from  this,  was  becoming 
truthful.  As  a  growing-pain  affecting  her  speech,  or  a 
sense  of  tidiness  attaching  to  facts  instead  of  to  things 
she  accepted  it  with  a  sort  of  pride.  It  sprang  not  so 
much  out  of  any  instinct  or  moral  notion,  as  out  of  self- 


(/ 


106  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

consciousness ;  she  told  the  truth  to  satisfy  herself,  —  not 
in  the  least  because  she  felt  that  she  owed  it  to  other 
people.  Probably  we  derive  most  of  our  virtues  from 
quite  unvirtuous  motives  to  begin  with,  till  we  hear  the 
world  applauding  them  as  good  qualities.  Marcia  started 
on  a  good  honest  home-brew  of  self-applause. 

Tristram's  truthfulness  went  on  different  lines.  He 
would  tell  the  truth  with  uncalculating  candour,  so  long 
as  he  was  not  challenged  for  it ;  any  attempt  to  hector  him 
into  an  admission  against  his  will,  produced  dogged  si- 
lence. His  only  reason  for  not  lying  was  that  lying  was 
generally  mean ;  he  would  be  evasive  to  secure  freedom, 
never  to  escape  punishment. 

"  That  boy  of  yours  has  a  devil !  "  said  Miss  Julia  Gav- 
ney  with  becoming  conviction  to  his  father  one  night, 
when  Mrs.  Gavney's  retirement  had  left  them  alone.  She 
had  her  reasons  for  putting  off  the  recital  till  Anna  was 
out  of  the  way ;  for  without  any  intention  to  misstate  the 
facts,  could  not  dissociate  them  from  a  personal  grievance, 
a  reason  why  the  whole  truth  of  the  tale  were  hardly  to 
lie  learned  by  the  reader,  if  it  were  left  to  her  telling. 
Even  the  historian  states  the  case  with  a  certain  bias. 

The  affair  was  a  very  simple  one.  Julia  had  left  a  six- 
pence on  some  packages  which  awaited  the  carrier,  and 
on  her  return  the  money  was  missing.  Tristram  had  been 
seen  to  go  into  the  room,  and  owned,  when  charged, 
to  having  gone  out  by  the  window.  The  evidence  was 
sufficient  for  a  lady  of  hasty  logic,  whose  mind  was  always 
at  jangle  like  a  bunch  of  keys,  over  the  details  of  \\er  ener- 
getic housekeeping.  To  her  his  absence  meant  flight ; 
catching  sight  of  him  at  a  distance  she  went  after  him  at 
a  hot  run  as  though  he  were  an  escaping  convict :  collared 
him,  and  cried,  "  Give  me  back  that  sixpence,  at  once!  " 

Tristram  wished  to  know  what  sixpence. 

She  shook  him,  saying,  "  Give  it  me!  If  you  don't,  I 
turn  out  your  pockets  !  " 


THE    AFFLICTION     OF     MORALS     107 

The  boy  kicked  against  the  violation  of  his  person  till 
overpowered  by  superior  force  Many  absurd  things 
tumbled  into  the  light  of  day :  nothing  that  mattered,  but 
the  exposure  of  them  roused  him  to  fury.  Along  with 
them  came  a  few  coppers,  but  no  sixpence;  nor  did  any 
linings  or  corners  reveal  him  the  culprit. 

Julia  Gavney's  remedy  was  to  take  the  coppers  in  pres- 
ent payment  for  the  sixpence.  Tristram's  was  to  rush  to 
his  mother  and  declare  that  his  Aunt  Julia  had  been  rob- 
bing him.  She  came  on  his  heels  and  delivered  her  own 
version  of  the  affair. 

Anna,  with  her  natural  conciliatoriness  of  speech, 
slipped  into  wisdom  by  mere  accident.  "  But,  my  dear 
boy,  have  you  really  taken  it?  "  she  asked. 

"  No,  mother,  of  course  not !  "  said  the  boy  in  a  tone  of 
high  disdain.  And  to  the  "Why  then?"  of  further  en- 
quiry, replied,  "  She  never  even  asked  me !  " 

Miss  Gavney  was  amazed  at  Anna's  weakness  of  mind 
when  she  heard  herself  invited  to  make  a  wider  search 
after  the  missing  coin.  But.  sure  enough,  when  she  lifted 
the  top  parcel  again  from  the  pile,  the  thing  dropped  out  of 
a  fold  in  the  brown  paper,  under  which  it  had  slipped ;  a 
denouement  which  cleared  Tristram  altogether  of  the 
charge,  and  left  her  looking  a  little  foolish. 

Mrs.  Gavney  had  a  soft  triumph  over  her  sister-in-law, 
and  let  it  show  as  she  kissed  the  boy's  still  flushed  and 
angry  face.  To  Julia,  the  offence  of  his  innocence  was 
greater  than  his  guilt  would  have  been ;  its  effect  was  to 
undermine  her  authority.  :<  It  is  a  pity  Tristram  so  much 
dislikes  telling  the  truth,  that  it  has  to  be  dragged  out 
of  him !  "  was  the  way  in  which  she  covered  her  retreat. 

The  incident  augured  ill  for  their  future  relations ;  it 
showed  clear  to  her  view  the  devil  of  opposition  that  was 
in  the  boy's  nature.  She  had  the  faculty,  it  appeared,  for 
calling  it  out. 


108  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

Mr.  Beresford  Gavney  merely  thought  that  the  affair 
proved  Tristram  to  be  ripe  for  heavier  tutorial  discipline ; 
and  suggested  that  in  the  coming  summer  term,  he  would 
be  old  enough  to  enter  as  a  day-boy  the  Friars-gate  School 
at  Bembridge.  As  a  result  of  their  consultation  the 
Tramp  found  Latin  added  to  his  daily  tasks,  and  when 
told  the  reason,  could  only  regret  that  his  years  had  kept 
him  behind,  and  that  before  he  arrived  at  the  school, 
Raymond  Hannam  would  have  left  it. 

Of  his  new  friend  he  spoke  constantly  to  Marcia,  and 
always  with  applause.  Once  or  twice  she  had  the  oppor- 
tunity of  seeing  him  when  he  came  up  to  the  Valley  House 
to  carry  Tristram  off  on  some  expedition,  or  to  find  sport 
with  him  on  the  grounds.  She  joined  vigorously  in  their 
games  when  invited  to,  and  found  it  quite  easy  to  dislike 
the  new-comer  for  a  way  he  had  of  saying  "  That's  jolly 
good  for  a  girl !  "  about  things  she  did  quite  as  well  as 
Tristram.  It  was  a  phrase  she  had  taught  the  Tramp  not 
to  use.  Doris,  too,  had  kept  him  free  from  an  early 
knowledge  of  masculine  superiority. 

Seeing  clearly  that  influences  of  separation  were  at 
work  between  herself  and  Tristram,  Marcia  chose  charac- 
teristically to  put  the  blame  of  it  all  on  others,  and  take 
none  on  herself.  She  could  not  look  in  and  see  the  change 
there  also  at  work,  undoing  the  tie  of  their  old  boon-com- 
panionship, not  to  be  knit  again  till  present  phases  in 
both  should  be  past. 

One  of  the  first  unsettlings  of  life,  which,  looking  back, 
we  see  to  have  modified  so  much  our  appreciation  of  it 
as  a  thing  merely  of  weathers  and  seasons,  is  the  growth 
of  the  moral  sense.  To  the  animal  in  us  it  is  a  calamity ; 
to  the  spiritual  at  first  but  a  doubtful  benefit.  The  moral 
sense  seldom  makes  us  better  at  the  first  infection  ;  only 
more  conscious  of  the  evil  that  is  in  us,  and  a  little  more 
disagreeable  to  our  neighbours  than  we  were  before.    As 


THE    AFFLICTION     OF    MORALS     109 

a  rule,  it  is  the  girl  who  stumbles  into  it  first,  obeying  the 
new  order  with  less  resistance  than  her  brother  in  afflic- 
tion. The  misfortune  is  hers  as  well  as  his ;  she  begins  to 
feel  deserted,  not  knowing  why ;  unconscious  that  she 
herself  has  moved,  she  sees  that  she  is  estranged  from  his 
side.  Hitherto  she  has  been  his  rib  and  very  good  com- 
rade; the  half-skirting  about  her  limbs  has  been  a  mere 
accident,  carrying  with  it  no  present  significance.  Within 
that  symbol  of  coming  doom,  the  tomboy  has  gambolled 
at  large,  unabashed  and  undefiant,  having  nothing  to  be 
ashamed  of  or  to  dread.  Alas  !  Greek  Atalanta  becomes 
Eve  again ;  and  stooping  to  take  up  the  apples  of  her 
maiden  sex,  finds  she  may  run  no  more  with  the  same 
spirit.  A  lamentable  self-consciousness  hampers  her 
actions ;  she  consults  a  self  within  herself  of  which  she 
has  hitherto  been  ignorant,  and  as  a  whole  companion  is 
done  for.  So,  until  the  youth  also  has  gone  through  that 
corresponding  state  of  complexity  out  of  which  adoles- 
cence has  to  fret  its  way,  she  being  bound,  he  still  free, 
they  come  naturally  to  loggerheads,  knock  and  strike 
sparks,  and  start  asunder,  wondering  sullenly  at  the  op- 
position that  has  come  on  them.  And  let  her  take  her 
share  of  the  shocks  as  penitentially  as  she  may,  he  will 
not  value  her  the  better  for  meekness  where  incompati- 
bility is  the  offence.  Instead  of  a  support  she  becomes  a 
flaw  in  that  structure  of  concealment,  which  youth  with 
the  most  moral  future  before  it  will  rear  against  the  over- 
reachings  of  authority.  Under  such  circumstances  it  is 
quite  likely  that  the  girl,  though  morally  the  aggressor, 
suffers  more,  nor  is  she  consoled  that  conscience  is  on  her 
side.  Here  is  the  moment  in  the  lives  of  young  Adam 
and  Eve  when  the  gods  still  deal  out  poetic  justice;  and 
the  woman  suffers  for  her  importation  of  the  interroga- 
tive note  of  conscience  into  youth's  Eden  of  the  appetites. 
'  We  were  twins  once,"  Tristram  had  said  on  one  occa- 


no  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

sion  of  himself  and  Marcia,  his  memory  catching  on  a 
term  which  had  been  fictitiously  applied  to  them  when 
their  two  heads  were  found  on  a  level.  For  a  much 
longer  time,  when  physical  growth  had  sent  him  ahead, 
they  had  remained  twins  in  effect.  Now  the  moral  law 
decided  for  them,  that  it  was  no  longer  to  be.  Marcia, 
with  the  encumbrance  of  spirit  adding  itself  to  flesh,  was 
for  the  time  outgrowing  him ;  she  no  longer  gave  to  his 
mind's  eye  pictures  of  the  world  as  it  ought  to  be.  When 
she  stood  up  one  day  before  the  bar  of  enquiry  like  an  up- 
rooted mandrake  of  the  earth,  her  raiment  streaming  pel- 
lets of  soil,  she  confessed  at  once  what  she  had  been  do- 
ing. "  I've  been  burying  myself ;  at  least,  Tristram  did  it ; 
I  asked  him  to."  Also  she  told  plain  home-truths  over  the 
wettings  and  tearings  of  her  frocks.  "  It  got  itself  wet," 
and  "  It  came  torn,"  were  no  longer  terms  to  satisfy  her 
ear  for  detail.  Conscientiousness  never  made  her  a  tell- 
tale ;  all  the  more  did  it  act  as  a  moral  deterrent  on  Tris- 
tram. Her  betrayals  of  herself  disheartened  him ;  they 
made  his  own  secrecy  seem  craven.  After  one  or  two  de- 
spairing efforts  to  recover  her  as  an  accomplice,  his  spirit 
forsook  her  and  fled. 

Marcia  buried  her  forlorn  life  in  much  book-reading, 
and  punished  him  by  the  accuracy  of  her  learned  lessons, 
against  which  he  cut  but  a  poor  figure.  Miss  Binning 
reported  that  his  industry  was  deteriorating.  It  was,  but 
not  so  much  as  appeared.  Hitherto  there  had  been  an  un- 
written compact  between  the  two,  by  which  they  had 
kept  each  other's  shortcomings  in  countenance :  they  had 
only  allowed  themselves  to  do  so  much,  or  so  much  ;  to 
be  word-perfect  was  counted  by  them  as  uppishness. 
Thus  had  the  rigours  of  discipline  fallen  more  mildly 
across  backs  that  were  true  yoke-fellows.  Marcia's 
morals  wrought  havoc  in  that  old  code  of  theirs.  Tris- 
tram resisted  the  change  by  doing  rather  worse. 


THE    AFFLICTION     OF    MORALS     in 

Thus  it  came  about  that  war  simmered  between  them, 
and  for  his  scrapes  Tristram  chose  loneliness.  If  occa- 
sionally, in  his  search  for  them,  honest  accident  overtook 
him,  he  no  longer  had  an  eye-witness  at  hand  to  help  him 
out  in  a  good  cause;  and  he  found  to  his  surprise  that, 
singly,  he  bore  a  reputation  for  untruthfulness. 

One  day  some  error  of  judgment  made  from  the  high 
bird's-eye-view  of  authority,  had  ordered  him  to  a  tea 
of  dry  bread  without  butter  or  jam.  The  jam  chanced  to 
be  a  particular  one ;  he  reached  out  his  hand  for  it,  reas- 
serting his  innocence.  Restrained  by  the  presiding 
power,  he  cast  his  bread  to  float  in  the  contents  of  his 
tea-cup:  though  sopped  food  was  distasteful  to  him,  he 
would  not  eat  dry  bread,  not  for  all  the  thunders  that 
were! 

It  did  not  mollify  him  in  the  least  that  Marcia,  sitting 
opposite,  was  joining  herself  to  his  cause  in  this  instance 
by  meekly  foregoing  the  syrupy  object  of  his  desires,  lest 
comparison  should  the  more  inflame  his  mind.  Her  kind 
self-denial  only  irritated  him;  with  savage  contrariness 
he  remarked : 

"Why  don't  you  have  any  jam?  Nobody  has  told 
lies  about  you!  Go  on!  Eat  your  own  and  my  share  as 
well !    I  give  it  you ;  nobody  else  has  a  right  to  it !  " 

This  defiant  gift  of  his  rights  he  would  at  least  make, 
even  under  the  nose  of  Miss  Binning's  authority.  But 
Marcia  remained  a  creature  of  mean  spirit,  a  deserter: 
she  sat  and  made  no  sign,  lifting  up  dry  mouthfuls. 

He  turned  with  more  interest  to  watch  the  soppy  frag- 
ments of  his  own  bread  being  spooned  out  of  his  tea-cup. 
Evasion  of  the  penalty  was  not  to  be  permitted  to  him: 
his  tea  returned  to  him  crumby  and  cool  from  much  spill- 
ing, and  dry  bread  was  again  set  before  him.  But  having 
now  declared  war  against  food  in  that  form,  he  would 
perish  rather  than  own  to  being  hungry. 


ii2  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

In  the  free  hour  following  the  conclusion  of  the  meal, 
Marcia  roaming  down  the  pantry  passage,  sighted  Tris- 
tram, a  figure  of  guilt,  fleeing  out  of  a  recess  at  her  ap- 
proach. The  instinct  of  the  chase,  rather  than  any  idea 
of  detecting  crime,  led  her  to  pursuit.  She  caught  him 
up  as  he  was  wrestling  with  the  spring-door  to  open  it. 
The  Tramp  with  a  squeal  of  rage  huddled  himself  down 
in  a  corner,  covering  some  prize  under  the  flap  of  his 
coat. 

One  of  the  servants  went  by ;  Marcia  held  her  tongue, 
but  did  not  loose  him.  "What  have  you  there?"  she 
asked,  when  the  coast  was  clear. 

"You  mustn't  look,  Marcia!"  he  protested;  "it's  a 
secret !  " 

She  withdrew  honourably,  though  not  convinced. 
Compunction  seized  Tristram ;  such  generous  dealing 
forced  him  to  forego  deceitful  secrecy.  He  sat  up,  dis- 
closing a  pot  of  the  identical  jam  of  which  he  had  been 
robbed  at  tea-time,  already  ravished  of  its  covering,  and 
indented  by  tell-tale  spoon  marks.  Tristram  had  been 
remedying  the  injustice  of  the  authorities  by  a  foray  on 
his  own  account. 

Marcia  was  moved  by  his  voluntary  self -betrayal,  but 
was  none  the  less  concerned  at  the  revelation.  The  moral 
sense  made  her  say : 

"  Tris,  you've  been  stealing  it !  You  must  put  it  back 
again." 

"  No,"  he  protested ;  "  it  wasn't  fair  to  do  me  out  of  my 
jam !    And  besides,"  he  added,  "  I've  begun  it  now." 

There  was  decided  satisfaction  in  that ;  the  Rubicon  had 
been  crossed.  In  the  face  of  that,  let  moral  questionings 
hide  a  diminished  head.    A  bright  idea  struck  him : 

"Have  half!"  he  proposed,  "you  had  none  at  tea 
either." 

Marcia  pressed  refusing  lips  over  a  mouth  that  watered. 


THE    AFFLICTION    OF    MORALS     113 

There  was,  she  saw,  a  plain  difficulty  over  the  restitution 
of  the  theft ;  but  not  the  less  was  what  he  proposed  unjus- 
tifiable to  her  conscience. 

"  I  ought  to  have  had  jam  for  my  tea!  "  insisted  Tris- 
tram, "  and  if  we  were  to  finish  it,  a  whole  pot  wouldn't 
be  missed ;  nobody  is  likely  to  think  of  counting  them." 

It  was  wicked  gospel  truth.  But  Marcia's  feminine 
soul  had  acquired  a  dignity  lacking  to  the  male. 

"  You  ought  not  to  have  done  it ! "  she  declared. 
"  Trampy,  dear,  can't  you  smooth  it  down,  and  put  it  back 
again  ?  " 

Tristram  was  dogged  on  that  point ;  rather  would  he 
eat  a  share,  leave  the  remainder,  and  be  found  out.  But 
it  was  half  ruefully,  at  last,  that  he  sat  down  in  a  retired 
spot  to  dispose  wholesale  of  the  thing  he  could  not  restore 
entire. 

Marcia  eyed  him  remorselessly  the  whole  time ;  and  the 
jam  tasted  very  ill.  She  even  followed  him  to  see  how  he 
got  rid  of  the  empty  jar.  Her  doing  so  made  that  part  of 
his  task  doubly  distasteful ;  for  clearly  it  was  beyond  his 
rights  to  dispose  of  the  jam-pot:  his  claim  did  not  extend 
beyond  its  contents. 

Rolling  it  conspicuously  into  the  dust  heap,  he  turned 
upon  her  resentfully.  "  Now,  go  and  tell !  "  he  sneered. 
"  Girls  are  all  sneaks !  " 

He  knew  this  statement  to  be  untrue,  but  to  set  injus- 
tice against  injustice  relieved  his  feelings.  After  sulking 
for  the  rest  of  the  evening  as  in  duty  bound,  he  was  for 
regarding  the  incident  as  closed. 

He  was  mistaken.  It  was  not  until  tea-time  the  next 
day  that  the  moral  sense  began  to  unmask  the  full  aspect 
of  its  tyranny.  For  three  weeks  from  that  date,  with 
faithful  regularity,  Marcia  puzzled  Miss  Binning,  and 
admonished  her  brother  by  refusing  jam  to  her  tea. 
Tristram  took  it  all  the  more,  in  large  helpings,  as  fodder 


ii4  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

to  his  wrath,  hoping  by  such  callous  defiance  to  rouse  her ; 
but  he  made  no  impression.  To  Miss  Binning,  who 
sought  a  private  explanation,  she  said,  "  Trampy  was  un- 
fairly punished  last  week,  that's  why !  "  A  remark  which 
made  Miss  Binning  believe  that  she  saw  the  true  culprit 
now  before  her,  doing  penance  in  a  fashion  of  her  own 
choosing. 

Marcia  was  let  alone  to  complete  it.  She  was  angeli- 
cally sweet-tempered  through  it  all,  going  out  of  her  way 
to  show  Tristram  that  she  bore  him  no  grudge,  that  this 
merely  was  duty.  She  was  indeed  very  sorry  for  him, 
and  for  herself  too,  while  the  three  weeks  lasted. 

Tristram  watched  her,  trying  to  make  out  what  new 
creature  was  this ;  the  downright  tyranny  of  the  experi- 
ment was  what  chiefly  struck  his  mind.  And  while  his 
brain  mazed,  he  questioned  within  his  rankled  bosom  how 
a  girl  could  so  smile  and  smile,  and  yet  be  a  villain ! 


CHAPTER  XI 

IN    WHICH    A    GENTLE    CHARACTER   DISAPPEARS    FROM 

THE  STORY 

OPRING  was  again  showing  bright  edges  of  green,  and 
the  walks  which  Doris  had  made  familiar  to  the 
children's  feet  grew  alive  with  memories  of  her  as,  group 
by  group,  the  flowers  rushed  back  to  the  places  of  her 
ramblings. 

To  Tristram  they  almost  cried  her  name.  An  epistolary 
fervour  seized  him ;  he  seemed  for  a  whole  winter  to  have 
forgotten  her.  Now  he  pestered  his  mother  to  send  to 
her  the  great  handfuls  of  wild-flowers  he  brought  home: 
they  were  all  for  his  Aunt  Doris.  By  the  sea,  he  appeared 
to  think,  there  could  be  no  flowers. 

A  few  specimens  his  mother  consented  to  slip  between 
the  pages  of  her  correspondence  ;  but  such  things  as  wood- 
anemones  were  too  perishable  for  forwarding ;  it  seemed 
better  merely  to  send  word  of  the  will  that  was  in  him. 

Doris,  hearing  of  the  boy's  floral  mood,  sent  to  enquire 
after  her  own  garden.  He  fell  to  energetic  upheavals  of 
its  soil,  and  sent  her  lists  of  the  things  which  were  ap- 
pearing. He  even  probed  beneath  the  surface  to  spy  the 
whereabouts  of  late  comers ;  many  a  tender  green  nose 
got  frost-nipped  in  consequence. 

One  day  he  drove  over  with  his  mother  to  Little  Tow- 
berry,  where  certain  matters  required  to  be  arranged  for 

"5 


u6  A    MODERN     ANTAEUS 

its  absent  mistress;  and  fell  into  a  sort  of  awe  over  the 
oppression  of  the  shut-up  house,  once  so  full  of  life. 

The  caretaker  opened  shutters  to  let  in  light ;  and  while 
Mrs.  Gavney  turned  over  the  contents  of  carefully  ar- 
ranged drawers,  Tristram  looked  out  on  a  desolate  gar- 
den. 

"  Why  does  nobody  do  anything  to  this  garden?"  he 
asked.  "  Doesn't  Auntie  Dorrie  mean  ever  to  come  back 
here?" 

His  mother  had  just  got  her  hand  on  one  of  the  things 
she  sought.  "  Come  here,  Tristram !  "  she  called  to  him. 
"  This  is  for  you."  She  held  out  a  little  miniature ;  in  it 
were  blue  eyes  and  a  face  he  knew. 

"Oh!"  he  cried,  looking,  "that  is  Auntie  Dorrie,  I 
know !  "  and  realising  he  was  to  be  its  possessor,  fell  into 
extravagant  love  for  it  during  the  rest  of  the  day. 

His  mother  studied  him  in  gentle  perplexity,  puzzled  at 
the  wild  tenderness  which  had  broken  out  of  his  rough- 
ened surface.    She  sent  word  of  it  to  Doris. 

"  Ah !  "  wrote  that  dear  lady  out  of  her  fast  banishment, 
"  if  I  could  be  given  one  selfish  wish  now,  it  would  be  to 
see  you  again,  and  him !  Dear,  I  write  it  down  only  the 
more  to  forbid  it:  you  must  not  come!  (let  good  news  of 
your  health  come  instead!),  and  the  other  thing  is  out  of 
the  question.  Besides  I  am  sure  that  I  am  much  better, 
so  the  need  can  wait." 

In  a  later  letter  she  asked  that  out  of  her  own  plot  of 
garden  Tristram  should  send  her  one  gathering  of  its 
spring-beauties  as  a  proof  of  his  stewardship.  May  was 
beginning  then,  and  letters  were  no  longer  in  her  own 
handwriting. 

The  letter  arrived  late  one  evening ;  Tristram  had  the 
message  when  he  went  in  to  say  good-night  to  his  parents. 
His  mother  kissed  him  with  a  troubled  countenance  as 
she  told  him.     '  To-morrow,  dear,"  she  said.    It  was  then 


A    CHARACTER    DISAPPEARS        117 

dark ;  but  the  boy  was  in  a  fever  to  be  off  at  once  into  the 
garden,  and  pick  his  flowers  ready  for  the  first  morning 
post.  It  seemed  to  him  an  act  of  unfaithfulness  to  post- 
pone fulfilment  of  the  request.  Mrs.  Gavney  whispered, 
"  Do  as  I  say,  dear ;  to-morrow  will  be  time  enough." 
And  he  went. 

She  came  up  to  his  room  just  as  he  was  getting  into 
bed,  and  asked :  "  Tristram,  have  you  said  your  prayers?  " 

"  Oh  yes,  I  think  so !  "  said  the  boy  doubtfully,  with  one 
leg  out.  He  was  quite  willing  to  do  them  again  to  make 
sure. 

Did  he  pray,  she  asked  him,  for  his  Aunt  Doris  ? 

"  Oh  yes,  I  do,  mother,"  he  said ;  "  always  for  her." 

She  left  him  then,  saying  no  more.  A  quarter  of  an 
hour  later  Marcia  came  into  the  room  and  got  on  to  the 
bed  beside  him.  "  Trampy,"  she  cried  out  in  the  dark. 
"  Auntie  Dorrie  is  ill !  " 

"Oh,  it's  not  true!"  said  he,  but  pulled  himself  up 
quickly  from  under  the  bed-clothes. 

"  It  is !  Mother  told  me ;  and  I  know  it's  true  from  the 
way  she  said  it." 

"How  did  she  say  it?" 

"  Oh !  "  Marcia  shook  herself  for  an  explanation  she 
could  not  give.  A  gloomy  conviction  pervaded  her  that 
"  ill "  meant  very  ill ;  she  did  not  spare  to  speak  her 
thoughts  to  him.  She  talked  into  pitch  darkness ;  her 
voice  over  his  head  seemed  to  move  to  and  fro  in  a  sort  of 
stumble  across  his  senses.  He  became  sick  with  dread 
that  there  was  reason  in  what  she  uttered,  only  he  wished 
and  wished  that  she  would  leave  off  speaking  of  it :  to  ar- 
gue in  the  dark  was  like  kicking  against  a  blank  wall. 

Presently  she  said,  "  I'm  cold ;  I'm  going  back  to  bed 
again.  Good-night,  Tramp."  They  exchanged  kisses, 
a  thing  rare  between  them  now,  except  after  quarrels; 
she  stole  off  to  her  own  room  again,  leaving  him  in  a  fer- 


n8  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

ment  of  unreasoning  remorse  over  the  days  when  mind- 
fulness of  Doris  and  the  service  due  to  her  had  been  put 
aside  or  forgotten. 

In  the  middle  of  the  night  Marcia,  a  heavy  sleeper, 
grew  half  awake  with  a  belief  that  she  saw  Tristram  by 
her  side,  clothed  and  standing,  a  dim  figure  between  her 
and  the  open  door.  What  he  said  she  did  not  understand. 
She  turned  afresh,  cheek  to  pillow,  and  lost  consciousness  ; 
then  starting  suddenly  awake  looked  up  to  see  sure  enough 
that  the  door  stood  open.  '  Trampy !  "  she  called ;  but 
there  was  no  answer.  She  was  in  doubt  if  he  had  been 
there  at  all. 

It  would  be  hard  to  say  in  what  state  of  consciousness 
Tristram  had  left  his  bed.  What  he  could  recall  the  next 
day  gave  but  a  half  of  his  troubled  movements  during  the 
night.  He  remembered  his  visit  to  Marcia  and  his  find- 
ing her  in  too  heavy  a  sleep  to  be  stirred,  but  could  not 
account  for  the  few  poor  pullings  of  flowers,  bare  stalks, 
bruised  and  crumbled  grass  which  lay  scattered  on  the 
floor  by  his  bedside.  They  seemed  a  feeble  expression  of 
the  great  wish  which  had  filled  and  broken  his  night's 
rest. 

Day  dawned  gloomy ;  he  woke  late  and  found  that  the 
desire  had  worn  itself  out ;  it  lay  in  him  now  with  the 
weight  of  a  leaden  duty  to  be  done.  Nevertheless  before 
many  minutes  he  was  out  of  the  house  to  find  a  chill  air 
blowing  over  the  ground  where  there  had  of  late  been 
rain.  Across  the  borders  of  Doris's  garden,  he  saw  upon 
the  mould  fresh  footprints  between  the  flowers,  and  won- 
dered if  they  could  be  his  own.  Solitary  he  felt  at  that 
chill  gathering,  a  Dante  missing  his  Beatrice. 

Close  on  the  breakfast  hour  he  returned  from  his  task, 
bearing  a  double  handful  of  flowers  :  Marcia  met  him  with 
a  strange  face.  Something  of  a  hush  had  taken  hold  of 
the  establishment.    She  looked  at  the  flowers,  then  at  him. 


A     CHARACTER    DISAPPEARS        119 

"  No,  no,  Trampy !  "  she  said ;  "  mother  mustn't  see 
them !  "  and  told  him  in  a  quick  whisper  the  news  that 
had  just  come  into  the  house,  of  grief  not  many  hours  old. 
His  hands  became  insensible  of  what  they  held.  Staring 
at  her  for  an  amazed  moment  with  a  stunned  sense  of 
shame,  he  tried  to  believe  that  he  had  heard  foolishly 
something  not  true ;  yet  did  not  dare  to  ask  for  it  to  be  re- 
peated to  him.  Marcia  told  him  that  the  news  had  come 
by  telegram ;  their  mother  was  expecting  it,  she  held  it 
for  a  long  time  unopened,  weeping  bitterly.  Tristram 
remembered  to  have  seen  the  messenger  not  many  minutes 
ago,  returning  down  the  drive ;  and  with  the  prosaic  vis- 
ion presented,  the  reality  darted  into  him  like  a  wound 
into  the  flesh.  Pie  spun  round,  letting  the  flowers  fall  in 
a  heap,  and  raced  out  into  the  garden. 

Marcia  saw  him  at  top  speed,  disappearing  down  the 
field  under  the  terrace ;  and  the  practical  thought  that  he 
was  gfone  without  his  breakfast  crossed  her  mind  to  call 
up  troubled  pity  for  him,  and  remained  when  long  hours 
brought  no  sign  of  his  return. 

In  the  afternoon  she  watched  for  him  out  of  an  upper 
window,  and  spied  him  at  last  creeping  into  the  stables  by 
a  back  way.  She  found  him  in  the  dark  of  the  small 
granary,  munching  at  a  handful  of  corn. 

"  Tris,"  she  said,  "  mother  has  been  wanting  to  know 
where  you  are." 

"  Tell  her  I  am  here !  "  mumbled  the  boy. 

"  But  she  wants  you.    I  think  she's  ill." 

"  How  ill  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Lying  down  in  the  dark ;  I  don't  know :  she  hardly 
speaks." 

"What  time  is  it?"  enquired  Tristram.  She  told 
him. 

A  few  minutes  later  there  was  a  rub  at  Mrs.  Gavney's 
door.     Her  sigh  gave  him  admittance  to  the  veiled  still- 


120  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

ness  of  the  chamber.     A  small  body  climbed  up  and  lay 
down  on  the  bed  by  her  side. 

"Mother?" 

"  My  boy." 

The  two  faces  fell  to  an  embrace  on  the  same  pillow. 

"  Are  you  going  to  die,  too,  mother?  "  he  asked. 

"  Oh,  no,  my  dear,  not  yet." 

"  Where  are  you  ill,  then?  " 

She  murmured,  "  My  head !  "  and  let  his  hands  feel 
their  way  to  a  hot  tortured  forehead. 

"  I  won't  talk !  "  he  said ;  and  they  lay  silent  for  some 
while,  side  by  side,  only  his  hands  giving  her  news  of 
him. 

After  a  while  she  whispered,  "  I  feel  better !  "  and  be- 
gan speaking  on  the  subject  they  had  at  heart.  Little 
tales  of  the  childhood  of  Doris  stole  from  her  sad  lips. 
"  She  was  the  merriest  child  I  ever  knew  !  "  came,  and  had 
a  story  to  fit  it.  "  She  was  so  pretty !  as  long  as  I  can  re- 
member quite  the  prettiest  of  us  all ;  and  I  remember  the 
first  time  she  was  put  into  my  arms." 

Anna  sighed,  but  had  no  more  tears  to  give;  in  this 
evening  of  her  grief  Doris  seemed  to  smile  at  her  through 
a  clear-washed  space  of  atmosphere.  At  each  pause  she 
heard  Tristram  murmur,  "  Tell  me  more,  mother !  "  and 
still  found  much  to  say. 

After  a  time,  as  she  went  on,  she  began  to  notice  that 
his  hands  were  quite  cold  against  her  face;  and  to  ease 
him  of  the  strain,  "  I  am  better,  dear,"  she  said,  "  oh, 
much  better !  "  and  was  surprised  to  find  it  so  true.  "  Put 
down  your  hands  now ;  they  must  be  tired." 

There  was  no  response,  nor  movement  beyond  a  low 
breathing.  Soon  Anna  found  that  she  had  him  fast  asleep 
in  her  arms ;  and  all  her  heart  went  motherly  and  warm 
to  make  a  nest  for  the  poor  small  animal  which  had  crept 
to  her  for  comfort  of  its  wants. 


A     CHARACTER     DISAPPEARS        121 

"  It  needs  a  mother  to  understand  him,"  she  thought  to 
herself,  and  with  that  grew  consoled  over  all  the  aspects 
of  his  troublesomeness.  She  lay  quite  out  of  pain  now, 
comforted  in  her  gentle  pride  by  the  feeling  that  she  and 
her  boy  were  not  strangers.  The  thought  smiled  tenderly 
to  her  that  Doris  by  dying  had  afforded  proof  that  Doris 
could  be  a  little  wrong. 


CHAPTER   XII 

SCHOOL-DAYS    AND    HOLIDAYS 

TN  the  life  of  childhood  Earth  re-acts  her  story;  there 
the  parable  of  her  creation  becomes  told  again  in 
small,  and  leads  on  to  a  very  similar  end.  Creation  in  its 
completion  leaves  man,  an  interrogating  mind,  face  to 
face  with  the  tree  whose  fruit  it  is  peril  for  him  to  taste 
of ;  and  with  the  fall  that  follows,  creation  proper  may  be 
said  to  have  ended,  and  civilisation,  the  problem-play,  the 
fabrication  of  a  single  species,  as  opposed  to  the  consent- 
ing movement  of  a  whole  order,  to  have  begun.  Even  so 
do  we  come  to  a  point  in  the  life  of  man  where  childhood, 
the  natural  creation,  is  done  for  and  the  artificial  recipe 
of  civilisation  takes  its  place ;  when  the  raw  roots  of  him 
have  to  go  into  the  stews  and  flesh-pots  which  hands,  not 
Nature's,  have  prepared. 

Or  we  may  make  the  parable  more  personal  to  the  indi- 
vidual, and  see  in  childhood  once  again  the  forming  of 
the  first  man.  Taken  up  out  of  common  earth,  he  receives 
in  his  nostrils  breath  already  sweet  with  scents  of 
quickening  for  his  soul.  The  doors  of  his  being  sway 
freely  to  the  draughts  of  Heaven  ;  large  natural  inspira- 
tions predominate  in  the  stir-about  of  his  blood.  Memory 
looking  back,  thereafter  has  the  burden  of  knowing  that 
healthier  motions  then  went  to  the  balance  of  his  being 
than  when  civilisation  in  him  was  completed.  Surely  it 
was  better  for  his  mere  happiness  when  each  thing  in 

122 


SCHOOL-DAYS    AND    HOLIDAYS     123 

Nature  had  its  own  broad  meaning,  unassociated  with 
man's  sad  right  of  usufruct ;  when  sheep  in  the  fields  did 
not  stand  for  meat,  nor  grass  for  fodder,  nor  roads  for 
the  dull  jointing  of  trade,  nor  women  for  travail,  nor  men 
for  labour,  but  all  were  alike  useless  and  wonderful  things, 
to  be  enjoyed  as  the  uninstructed  senses  might  direct; 
when  desire  held  up  a  cup  to  catch  the  whole  reflection  of 
the  sun,  and  drank,  not  wine,  but  the  light  and  warmth  of 
Heaven. 

Your  average  man-child  gets  an  abrupt  addition  to  his 
first  principles  of  knowledge  when  he  goes  forth  from  his 
home  to  become  one  in  the  educational  community. 
Caught  and  set  down  in  no  garden,  but  a  walled  town,  he 
stands  before  the  Tree  of  Knowledge  under  a  new  law ; 
and,  "  Thou  shalt  eat  of  it !  "  is  now  the  word  of  com- 
mand. That  is  well  enough  ;  as  logical  followers  of  Adam, 
since  we  aim  not  to  reverse  his  record,  we  do  rightly  to 
exalt  his  deed  and  eat  of  the  same  damnation.  But  time 
has  caused  the  Tree  to  throw  out  rank  seedlings,  and  the 
city  of  Wisdom  whose  high  places  it  crowns  has  its  slums 
also  —  outskirts  which  lie  to  be  crossed  by  the  infarer. 
And  is  it  not  amazing,  if  you  think  of  it,  that  we  are  con- 
tent to  let  the  slums  give  to  the  raw  citizen  his  first  dip 
into  new  knowledge,  that  we  let  him  run  loose  into  by- 
ways where  the  gutter  is  almost  the  only  footpath  to  walk 
in  ?  And  meanwhile  the  human  parent,  smug  worshipper 
of  the  conventional  sanctities,  stands  like  an  ostrich,  bury- 
ing an  obtuse  head  from  all  avoidable  recognition  of  con- 
sequences. 

The  fact  is  but  stated  here  as  a  short  means  to  history, 
where  unattractive  ground  has  to  be  crossed  over :  a  re- 
minder in  brief  of  how  in  the  first  years  of  schooling  the 
Devil  holds  his  confirmation  classes,  so  that,  if  you  be- 
come not  his  converts  henceforth,  it  is  not  his  fault  nor 
the  fault  of  your  sponsors.    At  least  he  makes  sure  that 


124  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

youth  shall  no  longer  he  the  same  thing,  for  here  a  line, 
sharp  as  the  furrow  of  a  sacrificial  knife,  is  drawn  over 
the  human  body  ;  and  at  a  blow  the  life  of  childhood  is 
ended. 

The  reader  knows  by  now  that  it  is  no  life  of  a  saint 
we  are  recording.  In  Tristram's  nature  influences  of  good 
and  bad  were  for  ever  at  touch  and  go.  As  the  arrow 
must  be  free  for  the  string  that  sends  it,  so  with  him  for 
a  motion  to  have  weight  it  was  essential  that  he  should  be 
at  liberty  to  fly.  In  this  new  Antaeus  the  instinct  of  the 
spiritual  law  is  not  come  at  by  fasting  and  holy  obedience, 
and  if  you  find  him  ever  on  his  knees,  'tis  as  the  half-way 
sign  of  a  grace  in  him  whose  whole  aim  is  a  full-length 
roll  on  the  tawny  clay  of  mother-earth. 

The  beginning  of  autumn  saw  Tristram  entered  as  a 
day-scholar  at  the  Friars-gate  school  of  Bembridge,  with 
a  two  miles'  stretch  of  limb  morning  and  evening  to  make 
an  acceptable  sandwich  of  the  food  there  forced  upon  his 
brain.  He  went  believing  he  would  like  better  than  any- 
thing the  social  contact  of  his  own  kind  which  school 
promised  him ;  but  in  the  event  he  found  himself  lonelier 
with  a  crowd  than  with  a  few. 

Friars-gate,  as  then  constituted,  was  a  foundation  of 
mixed  condition  and  history,  a  compromise  between  claims 
deriving  from  an  old  pious  endowment  of  pre-reforma- 
tion  times  and  the  acquisitiveness  which  marks  in  educa- 
tional matters  the  upper  middle  classes  of  our  own  day ; 
for  the  benefits  of  the  institution  had  been  largely  trans- 
ferred to  a  class  higher  in  the  social  scale  than  the  one 
which  the  charitable  founder  had  originally  in  view.  The 
school  still  existed  by  right  of  an  ancient  charter,  which 
secured  twenty  scholarships  to  sons  of  the  Bembridge 
townspeople :  it  prospered  on  more  modern  lines  as  a  pro- 
prietary boarding-house,  where  the  sons  of  gentry  were 
trained  for  a  University  career.     A  certain  social  differ- 


SCHOOL-DAYS     AND     HOLIDAYS     125 

ence,  in  consequence,  marked  these  two  constituent  bodies 
of  the  school.  As  a  day-boy,  there  was  to  some  extent 
also  a  separation  of  interests. 

Tristram  found  himself  one  of  a  race  somewhat  looked 
down  on  by  those  whose  presence  gave  the  school  its 
standing,  but  who,  as  regards  the  original  intention  of  the 
founders,  were  interlopers.  Many  names  were  bandied 
between  the  two  parties,  expressive  of  a  continuous  small 
friction,  which,  not  generally  amounting  to  much,  was 
never  quite  absent.  The  daily  arrivals  from  the  outer 
world  were  scornfully  reminded  of  the  plebeian  dust  they 
bore  about  them  by  the  appellation  of  "  Door-mats." 
They  responded  with  an  elegant  feat  in  tit  quoquc  by 
naming  as  "  Bed-brats  "  those  who  slept  on  the  premises. 
Epithets,  first  fired  in  mutual  derision  by  opposing  wits 
of  one  generation,  stuck  and  became  the  common  phrase- 
ology of  school-life ;  in  time  these  produced  playful  varia- 
tions, coming  in  pairs  for  the  most  part,  the  result  of 
repartee.  Thus  the  "  Doorers  "  was  a  hit  which  produced 
the  "  Snorers  "  as  a  more  successful  counterstroke  on  the 
day-boy  side.  The  "  Dormers  "  and  the  "  Attics  "  were 
paler  comparisons,  lacking  in  contrast  of  meaning ;  while 
the  "  Dormice  "  and  the  "  Bedouins  "  made  a  sheer  turn- 
over of  the  significance  with  which  this  war  of  words  had 
started.  They  are  set  down  here  merely  that,  in  use 
hereafter,  they  may  be  understood  at  their  poor  native 
worth  —  the  efforts  of  crude  wit  in  a  race  which,  starting 
from  Shakespeare  himself,  has  always  had  more  difficulty 
in  making  a  tolerable  play  on  language,  than  in  turning 
it  to  humorous  extravagance.  Shakespeare  and  your 
average  school-boy  pun  very  much  on  a  par. 

At  the  date  of  Tristram's  coming  to  Friars-gate  the 
school's  fortunes  were  under  the  direction  of  one  who 
held  the  old-fashioned  claim  to  tutorial  office  of  a  Doctor's 
degree  of  Divinity.     Without  the  "  Doctor "  his  name, 


126  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

Coney,  made  an  insufficient  fitting  to  a  massive  presence 
wherein  weight  and  dignity  stood  ponderously  balanced. 
The  nickname  applied  to  him  by  his  scholars  behind  his 
back  had  also  been  inadequate,  but  that  its  double  mean- 
ing saved  it;  for  "  Beak,"  applied  as  it  undoubtedly  had 
been  in  the  first  instance  to  his  chief  facial  characteristic, 
bore  also  a  magisterial  significance ;  and  the  magisterial 
side  of  him  was  not  lost  upon  those  who  came  under  his 
tutelage.  It  had  made  the  school  what  it  was.  He  was 
a  man  presenting  that  marble  majesty  of  front  which  pro- 
vokes the  irreverent  from  a  distance  to  utter  high  ridicule, 
but  is  formidable  when  confronted.  Only  once  in  each 
month  was  the  school  able  to  vent  before  his  face  any 
whisper  of  the  disrespect  it  strove  hard  to  cherish.  The 
whisper  was  in  fact  a  roar ;  for  to  that  grew  the  dull  per- 
functory mumblings  of  response,  when,  at  evening  prayer 
in  the  school-chapel  upon  each  twentieth  day,  the  red- 
letter  verse  of  the  whole  psalter  came  to  be  recited.  "  And 
so  are  the  stony  rocks  for  the  conies,"  was  the  cry,  which 
would  then  rise  in  crescendo  off  three-score  rebellious 
tongues,  and  straightway  the  hubbub  would  die  down 
again  till  another  month  should  renew  to  their  lips  that 
delirious  draught  of  an  inspired  utterance. 

The  Doctor  stood  with  an  unmoved  face  while  that 
safety-valve  uttered  its  steam  in  outrageous  attack  upon 
his  ears ;  causing  thereby  very  much  debate  whether  he 
was  aware  at  all  of  the  provocation  hurled  at  him.  "  Stony 
rock  "  was  indeed  his  refuge ;  behind  that  marble  none 
could  guess  whether  lay  dark  ire  or  amusement  at  the 
paltry  satisfaction  of  the  herd.  Young  Coney,  who  held 
the  difficult  position  of  eldest  son  to  his  father  and  school- 
fellow to  those  who  felt  his  father's  sway,  assured  curious 
enquirers  that  he  did  not  know  his  parent's  mind  on  the 
subject.  But  it  was  to  that  youth's  credit  that  he  was  no 
filterer  of  news  through  his  double  relationship  to  tutor 


SCHOOL-DAYS    AND    HOLIDAYS     127 

and  tutored ;  and  as  he  had  earned  an  honourable  name 
for  carrying  no  tales  out  of  school,  so  too,  maybe  was  it 
his  rule  to  bring  none  in.  His  school-fellows,  even  when 
mischief  was  afoot,  could  see  undismayed  the  Doctor 
walking  with  his  hand  on  his  son's  shoulder,  and  be  with- 
out suspicion  of  foul-play  or  countermine.  Moreover,  in 
class  he  had  the  virtue  of  being  quite  as  much  afraid  of 
the  Beak  in  his  father  as  any  of  the  others.  The  sight  of 
Tom  Coney  trembling  like  the  rest  of  them  over  his 
stumbles  in  construe,  gave  the  school  an  added  sense  of 
respect  towards  a  power  whose  affection  never  showed  it- 
self through  favour ;  and  though  it  could  not  be  doubted 
that  the  Doctor  was  a  despot  by  nature,  and  something 
of  a  bully,  a  sharp  assault  on  his  central  dignity  was 
needed  to  make  him  unfair  or  vindictive  in  the  penalties 
he  imposed.  If  hereafter  we  see  him  and  our  hero  at  log- 
gerheads, it  will  be  because  the  latter  went  wilfully  to  the 
attack,  with  his  eyes  well  open :  nor  is  the  reader  to  think 
that  records  of  hair-brained  adventure,  however  moving, 
are  set  down  here  to  throw  any  colour  of  virtue  over  pro- 
ceedings in  themselves  doubtful.  It  is  the  picturesque 
and  not  the  moral  side  of  things  which  must  commend 
itself  to  the  historian  of  Tristram's  youth,  whereof  move- 
ment was  the  most  essential  characteristic  —  movement 
carrying  with  it  its  proper  complement  of  occasional  im- 
mobility, which  in  the  moral  category  would  have  to  be 
prejudiced  under  the  term  obstinacy.  And  if  out  of  a 
non-moral  presentment  a  moral  is  sought  to  this  story,  I 
say  that,  over  every  donkey's  back  amongst  us,  morals 
hang  in  pairs  like  panniers ;  and  that  when  the  weight  of 
them  has  broken  it  for  him  you  shall  have  the  two  to 
choose  from,  to  find  in  which  of  them  lay  the  last  straw 
that  caused  his  overthrow. 

But  for  the  present  Tristram's  life  piles  its  records  less 
in  the  restraint  of  his  school-hours  than  in  the  loosenings 


128  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

of  his  vacations.  The  Doctor's  verdict  on  him  at  the  end 
of  his  first  term  was,  '*  He  has  a  mind,  but  fails  to  apply 
it,"  and  the  reports  of  his  class-masters  carried  the  same 
accusation.  No  definite  charge  of  idleness  was  made 
against  him ;  one  of  the  most  lenient  of  his  instructors  put 
the  case  sympathetically :  "  If  a  window  is  open  in  the 
room  where  he  is  at  work,  his  brain  flies  out  of  it."  And 
the  remark  gave  just  the  right  colour  to  his  lack  of  indus- 
try. The  end  of  term  was  like  a  window  set  open  to  him : 
on  the  last  day  he  raced  home  in  rapturous  spirits,  and 
seemed  quite  pleased  with  himself:  merely  to  have  en- 
dured through  the  first  three  months  of  his  schooling 
seemed  to  him  an  achievement  almost  for  boasting. 

Two  days  later  young  Raymond  Hannam  was  also 
home  again  at  Little  Alwyn.  Tristram  found  him  loud  in 
praise  of  his  new  school ;  and  it  seemed  to  matter  little  to 
his  pride  that  he,  too,  was  near  the  bottom  of  his  class. 
The  difference  between  the  two  boys  lay  in  this,  that 
whereas  the  Tramp  cared  nothing  for  the  school-life  from 
which  holiday  gave  him  an  escape,  Raymond  found  in  it 
all  that  he  had  longed  for.  He  preached  its  joys  to  a 
heart  that  showed  little  wish  to  be  converted. 

"  I'd  like  to  be  wherever  you  are,  Ray,"  said  Tristram, 
busy  twining  new  heart-strings,  "  but  there  isn't  much 
else  about  it  I  think  I'd  care  for."  He  hinted  a  distaste 
for  the  companionship  of  his  own  kind  ;  and  of  school- 
games  said  he  did  not  care  for  them. 

It  was  an  odd  outcome,  for  the  boy  had  tremendous  en- 
ergy and  animal  spirits.  He  had  been  through  his  first 
fight,  and  rather  liked  it ;  though  he  was  in  doubt  whether 
he  had  lost  or  won.  "  We  got  tired  and  left  off,"  he  said, 
in  telling  Raymond ;  "  I  offered  to  go  on  again  next  day, 
but  we  forgot  all  about  it."  So  it  would  seem  he  and 
his  antagonist  had  fought  for  the  mere  mood,  and  been 
satisfied.    Hearing  of  it,  his  friend  began  teaching  him  to 


SCHOOL-DAYS    AND    HOLIDAYS     129 

box,  that  he  might  "  lick  any  fellow  of  his  own  size."  It 
was  Ray's  idea  that  as  a  good  fighter  he  would  become 
popular  and  like  his  school-life  better.  Yet,  in  the  event, 
Tristram  fought  but  one  other  battle  before  he  left  Bern- 
bridge. 

The  two  boys  became  inseparable.  Marcia  was  allowed 
to  hear  of  doings  in  which  she  had  less  and  less  of  a  part. 
When  at  last  she  went  to  share  the  schooling  of  some 
cousins  at  their  own  home,  the  separation  of  her  life  from 
Tristram's  would  have  been  almost  complete,  had  not 
ruth  and  inclination  then  turned  him  into  a  correspond- 
ent. In  absence,  his  heart  returned  to  her ;  and  she  found 
herself  on  paper  taken  back  into  his  confidence  in  a  way 
that  recalled  the  old  days,  for,  with  scrapes  that  had 
already  happened  she  could  safely  be  trusted ;  nor  was  it 
her  trick  to  preach,  when  she  wrote  back  to  him.  Thus, 
she  learned  astonishing  things  that  never  reached  the 
ears  of  her  elders,  and  had  a  map  of  his  life  that  to  them 
was  so  much  unknown  country.  Raymond's  flag  flew 
over  most  of  it. 

That  first  term  and  the  holidays  following  were  typical 
of  a  good  many  that  came  after.  In  the  summer  vacation 
it  became  necessary  to  order  Tristram  to  be  at  home  for 
at  least  one  meal  a  day,  besides  breakfast.  The  injunc- 
tion followed  Miss  Julia  Gavney's  discovery  that  it  was 
not  at  the  Vicarage  that  her  nephew  made  up  for  meals 
missed  at  home.  Mr.  Hannam  washed  his  hands  in 
innocency  as  to  the  general  whereabouts  of  the  boys' 
ramblings.  "  I  don't  know  where  they  go."  he  said, 
"  but  they  come  back  safe  enough;  mine  does,  that  is  to 
say." 

For  the  father  of  a  youth  just  arriving  at  the  age  called 
"  difficult,"  he  seemed  singularly  incurious.  He  astonished 
Miss  Gavney  by  appearing  to  regard  Tristram  as  a  sort 
of  safeguard  to  his  own  bigger  offspring.     "  I  find  him 


130  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

a  nice  little  fellow,"  he  asserted  under  correction.  "  He's 
as  troublesome  as  they  make  them !  "  declared  Miss  Julia, 
and  told  an  anecdote  or  two. 

The  vicar's  "  Dear  me !  "  was  uttered  in  mere  polite- 
ness, receptive  of  a  point  of  view  that  passed  straightway 
out  of  mind.  His  thoughts  went  back  to  the  parish  mat- 
ters, wherein  he  felt  his  only  true  responsibility. 

His  wife  had  made  the  mistake  of  leaving  him  a 
widower  with  one  boy  to  look  after ;  the  mistake  was 
hers,  not  his.  He  did  his  duty  so  far  as  the  object  of  it 
came  under  his  eye,  but  could  hardly  be  expected  to  divert 
himself  from  his  work,  on  account  of  one  who  showed  a 
nice  manly  faculty  for  looking  after  himself.  He  came 
out  of  his  clouds  to  administer  a  rebuke  now  and  again, 
and  was  alwrays  gratified  to  find  how  well  the  boy  took 
his  occasional  displays  of  authority.  Raymond  came  to 
his  father  for  extra  pocket-money  with  a  quite  ingenuous 
confidence  in  their  relations,  and  answered  all  questions 
frankly.  On  these  grounds  his  father  was  ready  to  swear 
that  he  had  a  boy  of  good  honest  character  to  deal  with, 
one  without  much  brain,  but  enough  for  the  Church,  to 
which  he  destined  him.  If  in  holiday  time  Raymond 
chose  the  son  of  so  advantageous  a  neighbour  as  Mr. 
Beresford  Gavney  for  a  companion,  Mr.  Hannam  trusted 
that  he  need  trouble  himself  no  further  in  the  matter.  So 
long  as  Raymond  came  home  of  nights,  he  was  free  to  go 
far  a-field  in  the  day-time.  Thus  the  companionship 
secured  extra  freedom  for  them  both. 

If  to  get  far  a-field  was  his  aim,  Raymond  found  that 
in  this  one  thing  the  Tramp  was  ahead  of  him,  and, 
though  not  aspiring  to  be  his  leader,  proved  himself  a 
born  guide.  He  knew  the  country  as  far  a-foot  as  they 
cared  to  go  to  quite  an  astonishing  degree.  He  knew  the 
people  also.  Up  at  the  Beacon  Farm,  he  assured  Ray- 
mond, there  was  food  and  a  welcome  for  them  whenever 


SCHOOL-DAYS     AND     HOLIDAYS       131 

they  liked  to  go.  And  it  was  not  the  only  homestead  to 
which  the  same  hospitable  truth  applied.  "  I'm  going  to 
be  a  farmer !  "  said  Tristram,  and  when  occasion  offered, 
showed  he  could  handle  a  pitchfork  as  to  the  manner 
born.  He  could  use  sickle  or  scythe,  too,  and  bind  a  sheaf. 
He  pointed  out  to  Raymond  a  sheep  he  had  helped  to 
shear;  but  had  to  confess  he  knew  it  by  a  certain  scar  on 
its  side.  The  farmer  to  whom  it  belonged  vowed  it  was 
none  the  worse  mutton  for  a  little  blood-letting.  Tris- 
tram professed  himself  a  connoisseur  in  cider ;  at  Beacon 
Farm  there  was  a  story  against  him  on  the  point,  telling 
how  in  his  raw  ignorance,  he  had  been  beguiled  and  over- 
come by  the  potent  beverage,  and  had  been  carried  up  to 
bed  to  recover  from  the  novel  effects  of  his  initiation 
into  alcohol  as  a  thirst-quencher.  The  farmer's  offer  of 
more  cider  now  ever  took  the  stereotyped  form  of 
"  And  do'ant  yo'  spare  it,  Muster  Tristram ;  yor  bed  be 
upstairs,  made."  This,  with  a  waggish  turn  of  the  head, 
suggesting  that  the  memory  was  worth  recalling. 

Raymond  owned  that  his  friend  had  cheek  beyond  his 
own  when  one  dark  night,  hungry,  belated,  and  far  from 
home,  Tristram's  soft  tongue  got  them  mounted  up  by 
the  coachman  of  a  carriage  returning  to  its  stables,  and 
in  the  end  set  down  to  sup  off  dishes  that  came  straight 
from  the  table  of  a  country  magnate.  The  boy  had  an 
easy  faculty  for  getting  at  the  sociable  side  of  men,  even 
of  that  haughty  under-aristocracy,  which  as  a  rule  is 
most  unbending  to  those  a  little  above  it  in  the  social  scale. 
Nevertheless  over  this  particular  episode  his  conscience 
showed  an  uneasiness.  He  pleaded  to  Ray  their  raven- 
ous state  of  hunger  for  an  excuse,  and  cleared  out  his 
own  and  his  friend's  pockets  in  a  gratuity  to  the  butler, 
who  had  acted  as  mine  host  to  them  over  his  master's  wine 
and  viands.  "  It  wouldn't  have  clone,  would  it,"  he  en- 
quired, "  to  have  offered  help  him  wash-up  ?  "    The  awk- 


1 32  A    MODERN     ANTAEUS 

wardness  of  the  final  thanksgiving  taught  him  in  future 
to  prefer  yeomen  and  cottagers,  people  with  whom  he 
could  feel  on  an  equality.  "  Why,"  he  wondered,  "  does 
being  in  the  households  of  lords  and  high  gentry  make 
the  serving  classes  less  human  ?  "  Raymond  thought  in- 
congruous imitation  and  the  high  pampering  of  coarse 
grain  did  the  mischief:  an  eternal  aping  of  habits  and 
manners  that  didn't  belong  to  them.  "  Share  a  kennel 
with  a  blood-hound,"  said  he,  "  and  you  catch  his  fleas, 
not  his  breed."  He  instanced  the  Hill  Alwyn  establish- 
ment —  every  man  Jack  of  them  with  the  temper  and 
expletives  of  its  mistress,  —  curses  caught  down  from  on 
high,  and  sent  the  rounds.  Talking  of  curses  —  the  alco- 
holic elements  of  speech  —  Raymond  said,  "  D'you  know 
old  Haycraft  ?  "  and  proposed  an  early  excursion  to  the 
old  man's  domain.  "  He  keeps  ferrets,"  was  added  as  an 
inducement;  and  the  morrow  saw  them  on  the 
confines  of  Randogger,  where  the  old  scamp  had  his 
abode. 

Of  all  the  country  lying  between  Hill  Alwyn  and  Hid- 
denden,  north  and  south,  Pitchley  and  Compton  Covey, 
east  and  west,  the  true  centre  was  Randogger.  Many- 
roofed  Bembridge  sat  apart,  —  only  on  market  days  a 
rallying-point  for  all  the  scattered  rustic  community. 
Randogger's  single  roof,  green  and  sparsely  inhabited, 
laid  the  weight  of  its  solitude  with  almost  hourly  insistence 
on  the  rough-grained  life  of  the  whole  district.  One  who 
understood  the  locality  could  judge  with  sufficient 
accuracy  by  the  build  of  the  homesteads  and  the  appear- 
ance of  their  inhabitants,  in  what  relation  they  stood  to 
the  country's  main  feature.  'Twas  a  centralisation  that 
betokened  a  veritable  moral  aloofness  from  the  hurrying 
of  the  age  :  a  stranger  was  a  marked  man  in  the  quiet  cart- 
tracks  which  threaded  these  wood-ways. 

Randogger,  for  all  its  complexity,  had  a  singular  unity; 


SCHOOL-DAYS     AND     HOLIDAYS       133 

the  eye  ranging  over  it  from  higher  ground  saw  only  an 
impressive  monotony.  "  Where  is  anything?  "  one  might 
say,  if  in  search  for  landmarks.  Yet  a  closer  investigation 
showed  how  life  lay  round  it  in  concentric  rings  like  the 
rind  enclosing  a  tree,  till  the  inner  ring  was  quick  with  the 
growth  and  sap  of  the  wood  itself.  Tree-like,  it  threw 
random  seedlings  of  itself ;  or,  let  us  say,  like  some  great 
fowl  with  brood  bulging  from  beneath  its  wing,  whence 
here  and  there  ran  a  straggler,  recognisable  still,  a  fledg- 
ling of  the  common  nest.  The  neighbourhood  was  named 
after  its  offspring.  Here  and  there,  at  the  distance  of 
a  few  fields,  lay  Pedlar's  Thicket,  Wooton  Hatch,  Rip- 
penstow,  and  the  Quarry  Coppice;  Hill  Alwyn  Wood 
itself  seemed  but  a  lusty  straggler  gone  farther  than  the 
rest.  Tucked  into  a  corner  of  this  last,  between  it  and 
Randogger  Edge,  Parson's  Copse  affronted  the  symmetry 
of  the  larger  estate.  It  was  glebeland  attaching  to  the 
living  of  Little  Alwyn,  and  in  the  days  gone  by  had  been 
the  cause  of  standing  feud  between  Parson  and  Squire. 

Those  were  days  when  Parson  was  a  week-day  sports- 
man, and  Squire  sucked  liquor  in  curtained  privacy  to 
relieve  the  tedium  of  the  Sunday's  sermon.  In  this  parish 
they  fell  to  feud :  the  man  of  God  was  the  first  to  take 
up  the  cudgels.  The  Squire,  Parson  averred,  poked  his 
fire  and  clinked  his  glasses  when  pulpit-eloquence  grew 
wearisome  to  him.  And  would  !  vowed  the  irate  magnate : 
he  knew  a  good  sermon  when  he  heard  it  —  which  was 
seldom ;  and  his  pew  was  his  own  property :  he  was  not 
to  be  ousted  from  that,  —  he  would  behave  there  how  he 
chose,  and  would  apply  cushions  external  and  internal  to 
suit  his  own  comfort!  Week-day  partnership  in  the 
stubble  was  thenceforth  over  between  them.  '  My  pew," 
the  Parson  forthwith  nicknamed  his  bit  of  copse,  and 
bagged  on  it  more  game  than  his  due.  '  You  poke  when 
I  preach,  I  poach  while  you  preserve !  "  was  his  way  of 


i34  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

putting  the  case.  On  that  text  lie  secured  a  substantial 
revenge.  They  took  to  shooting  each  other's  dogs ;  and 
in  all  ways  set  a  strange  example  of  Christianity  for  the 
parish  to  look  up  to.  One  bleak  winter's  day  sent  a  blast 
which  flared  out  after  a  brief  draught  the  vital  fire  animat- 
ing the  body  of  each.  It  was  recorded  that  on  his  death- 
bed the  parson  ate  pheasant,  and  died  two  full  days  earlier 
in  consequence. 

With  their  deaths  the  personal  squabble  came  to  an 
end,  but  a  traditional  coldness  passed  on  to  their  suc- 
cessors. Now,  in  Lady  Petwyn's  day,  the  manorial  pew 
stood  unoccupied ;  but  the  parson's  "  pew  "  had  a  tenant, 
and  something  of  the  old  grievance  was  revived.  Mr. 
Theodore  Hannam,  the  vicar,  not  himself  a  sportsman, 
without  an  intention  of  malice,  had  let  the  place  go  to  a 
wrong  occupant.  Haycraft  now  had  a  lease  and  could 
not  be  turned  out.  While  Sir  Cooper  Petwyn  was  drink- 
ing to  his  own  riddance,  there  had  been  little  game-pre- 
serving on  the  estate,  and  Haycraft's  methods  had  not 
mattered.  When,  under  bailiffs  and  keepers,  things  were 
set  in  order  once  more,  stern  eyes  and  complaint  were 
directed  against  him.  It  was  the  old  parson's  game  that 
he  was  playing. 

Lady  Petwyn  wrote  of  him  to  Mr.  Hannam  as,  "  your 
poacher  by  Church  established,"  and  at  length  made  a 
point  of  sending  no  game  to  the  Vicarage.  There  could 
be  no  doubt  she  had  a  grievance.  Haycraft  had  poaching 
in  his  blood,  and  by  a  shrewd  stroke  of  wit  the  old 
marauder  had  procured  a  settlement  for  his  old  age  which 
satisfied  his  instincts.  He  made  his  bit  of  wood  attractive 
to  the  pheasants  of  the  neighbouring  estate,  and  could  be 
heard  by  the  keepers  potting  merrily  at  birds  he  had 
done  nothing  to  rear.  Hard  words  were  bandied  to  and 
fro  across  the  boundaries  ;  but  Haycraft,  for  all  his  rough- 
ness of  tongue,  had  an  imperturbable  temper,  and  would 


SCHOOL-DAYS    AND    HOLIDAYS      135 

offer  to  sell  his  filchings  when  emptier  fists  were  shaken 
at  him. 

The  vicar  was  brought  at  last  to  remonstrate.  Hay- 
craft  swore  that  he  bred  birds  of  his  own.  He  did,  to  the 
extent  of  a  single  sitting  of  pheasants'  eggs  each  year,  and 
took  so  little  care  of  them  that  the  rats  and  stoats  of  the 
neighbourhood  carried  most  of  them  away.  On  the 
strength  of  that  outlay  he  bagged  weekly  through  five 
months  of  the  year,  and  sold  in  the  market  birds  which 
had  cost  his  neighbour  much  and  him  nothing. 

Over  at  the  Vicarage  it  was  his  office  to  be  useful  twice 
a  week  as  odd- jobber;  the  employment  fitted  into  a  knack 
he  had  of  getting  through  a  day's  work  without  any  show 
of  energy.  Look  at  him,  you  would  say  he  was  a  loafer : 
test  his  muscle,  you  would  believe  he  had  had  his  day 
as  a  prize-fighter.  Whatever  records  he  held  in  that 
direction  had  been  achieved  far  a-field ;  now,  only  a  wild 
outlandish  reverie  of  eye  told  something  of  an  adventur- 
ous life  over  which  his  lips  shut  fast.  He  was  never  to  be 
seen  in  a  hurry,  never  in  drink,  never  in  a  temper,  and 
never  in  church.  By  comparison  with  many  of  his  neigh- 
bours he  could  say  that  this  was  to  have  a  good 
character. 

On  the  Church  question,  his  parson  tackled  him;  he 
listened  dutifully,  and  at  the  end  let  go  a  fervent  utter- 
ance, expressive  of  a  mind  fully  prepared  for  the  great 
change.  "  When  a'  can  do  no  more  rotting  and  robbiting, 
Parson,  then  a'll  be  ready  and  willing  for  the  Lord  to 
take  me."  In  that  submission  concluded  his  creed;  could 
a  body  in  reason,  he  asked,  say  more?  On  the  stroke 
of  that  hour  he  would  be  as  ready  with  his  "  Nunc  dimit- 
tis  "  as  any  saint  in  the  calendar.  The  vicar  spoke  to  him 
of  his  language,  which  was  bad  enough  in  the  village, 
and  far  worse  when  the  game-controversy  was  on  up 
at  his  own  holding.     He  contended  that  language  was 


136  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

given  to  a  man  to  defend  himself  from  the  assaults  of  his 
enemies ;  it  was  a  matter  of  give  and  take,  lie  called  his 
pastor  to  witness  that  he  had  never  to  him  used  words 
unscriptural ;  and  held  the  fact  up  as  a  proof  of  his  inno- 
cence with  the  world  at  large. 

Haycraft  was  still  reckoned  to  be  the  tallest  man  on 
Randogger  side,  though  his  shoulders  had  now  begun  to 
stoop,  and  his  sap  to  run  dry.  Thirty  years  before  he- 
had  disappeared  from  the  neighbourhood  under  some 
cloud;  and  from  that  day  nothing  was  heard  of  him 
save,  from  across  the  county,  a  vague  rumour  that  he 
had  been  seen  among  gipsies  at  Bambury  fair,  with  Welsh 
ponies  for  sale;  till  one  night,  ten  years  before  the  date 
of  the  present  chapter,  he  had  turned  up  again  in  his 
native  place,  carrying  a  child  on  his  arm,  with  money 
enough  in  his  pocket  to  make  some  show  at  the  village  ale- 
house. It  was  told  of  him  that  he  stood  treat,  and  took 
treat  on  that  occasion  with  every  villager  who  entered 
the  inn-parlour,  and  at  the  end  of  the  ordeal  was  as 
sober  in  his  skin  as  a  man  need  be.  Those  present  on 
the  occasion  could  relate  how,  through  the  whole  of  that 
carouse,  the  child  had  slept  in  the  rigid  circle  of  his  arm, 
only  waking  once  to  cry  "  Mammy !  "  and  be  strictly 
hushed  back  again  to  sleep  in  tones  of  command ;  and  of 
1  lavcraft's  face,  how  it  bore  marks  of  conflict,  seeming  to 
have  run  the  gauntlet  of  terrible  buffetings ;  yet  how  his 
eye,  what  was  left  of  it,  carried  a  victorious  light. 

"  Here  I  am  home  again !  "  he  had  said ;  and  no  other 
word  was  vouchsafed  or  asked  as  to  what  lay  behind. 

This  was  the  man,  now  in  his  sere  and  yellow  leaf  from 
a  tempestuous  past,  whom  Raymond  was  taking  Tristram 
to  visit. 

They  found  him  among  his  guns  in  the  low-beamed 
kitchen  of  his  cottage  by  Randogger  Edge;  the  place 
seemed   a   tool-shed   more   than   a   living-room;    ferrets 


SCHOOL-DAYS    AND    HOLIDAYS     137 

squirmed  in  a  corner  near  the  door ;  nets  and  other  tackle 
lay  about ;  yet  the  abode  had  an  appearance  of  cleanliness 
and  was  draughted  through  by  fresh  air.  Behind  the  old 
fellow's  chair  sat  a  young  girl  basket  making.  She 
looked  up  bright-eyed  as  the  two  boys  entered ;  after  that 
she  shook  forward  a  thick  mane  of  black  hair,  and  seemed 
by  the  act  to  be  shutting  herself  off  from  observation,  and 
from  consciousness  of  anything  that  went  on  outside  her 
own  task. 

Haycraft  had  bidden  the  boys  in,  without  rising  from 
his  seat,  gruffly  enough ;  but  the  question  of  the  ferrets 
set  his  hinges  rustily  in  motion.  He  swung  his  great 
length  up  till  he  stood  near  to  the  roof,  then  dropping 
two  of  the  vermin  into  the  mouth  of  a  capacious  pocket, 
led  the  way  round  toward  the  warren  behind  the  house. 
The  Tramp  began  to  consider  his  face ;  it  was  keen,  with 
a  sort  of  stagnant  intelligence,  a  face  behind  which  the 
processes  of  thought  moved  cumbrous  and  slow.  The 
impression  he  got  was  of  one  whose  ear  was  attuned  less 
to  human  voices  than  to  the  sounds  given  forth  by  trees, 
whose  eye  took  in  the  indications  of  the  weather  for  a 
week  ahead.  He  had,  in  fine,  wisdom  with  which  the  boy 
wished  to  communicate. 

Raymond  named  his  friend.  "  Oh,  ah,"  said  the  ol  1 
fellow,  "  I  know  'im ;  I've  seed  'im  when  he  haven't  seed 
me.  Times  I  'ave."  He  turned  a  slow  look  of  scrutin- 
on  to  the  boy's  face.  Tristram  thrilled  queerly,  an  ' 
wondered  where  and  in  what  way  his  solitude  had  been 
spied  on. 

Haycraft  went  on  slowly,  "  Collecks  eggs,  don't  yer?  ' 
adding  with  an  ironic  chuckle,  "  I  seed  'im  ater  a  pheas- 
ant's one  day.    Lord,  if  Mr.  MacAllister  had  caught  yer; 
he'd  a  g'en  yer  what  for!  " 

He   asked   further   what   particular   eggs   he   wanted 
Tristram  named  a  few. 


138  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

"  When  we  come  back  to  the  house,  you  ask  my  Liz  to 
show  you  what  she's  got ;  maybe  she'll  sell  you  some." 

Tristram  said,  "  I  don't  care  to  buy  them,  I  want  to 
get  them  myself." 

"  Oh,"  said  the  old  fellow,  "  you  be  a  sportsman.  I 
likes  'em  hatched." 

He  indicated  the  gun  across  his  shoulder:  one  of  his 
many  industries  was  to  supply  naturalists  with  specimens. 
When  they  came  back  into  the  house,  Haycraft,  with 
scarcely  more  than  a  sign,  bade  his  daughter  up  and  get 
down  her  egg-boxes  for  the  young  gentleman  to  see. 
Tristram  bent  over  the  hoard  and  saw  things  that  he 
coveted. 

The  girl  gave  him  monosyllabic  information  as  to 
where  they  had  been  found.  She  had  king-fisher's  eggs ; 
touching  them  he  seemed  to  see  the  haunts  of  that  shy 
bird,  and  its  flight  like  a  blue  flame;  ever  a  stroke  that 
made  magic  to  his  eye.  Settling  the  box-lid  back  to  its 
place,  his  hand  rested  for  a  moment  upon  hers.  "  Got 
anything  else?"  he  asked.  Her  fingers  uncurled  under 
his,  and  let  them  in  to  where  a  dormouse  lay  nesting 
within  the  hollows  of  her  palm ;  no  word  was  said. 

Caressing  the  little  beast,  their  two  hands  fell  into 
familiaritv,  cradle  and  coverlet  to  the  drowsv  life  curled 
between.    Their  eyes  met  and  struck  friendship. 

To  Ray's  observation  she  seemed  of  a  sulky  breed.  He 
said  so  on  the  road  home.  The  Tramp's  answer  was  but 
to  wish  he  had  known  how  to  get  at  all  the  eggs  she  had 
shown  him.  She  was  without  books,  yet  could  lay  her 
finger  unerringly  on  every  egg  after  its  kind,  could  tell 
him  what  differentiated  the  markings  of  one  from  another, 
and  needed  no  labels  to  remind  her  of  knowledge  gathered 
at  Nature's  breast.  A  sort  of  envious  cupboard-love  grew 
in  him  for  an  adept  whose  faculties  were  clearly  ahead 
of  his  own.    Had  the  boy's  thoughts  run  less  on  collector 


SCHOOL-DAYS    AND    HOLIDAYS       139 

lines,  he  might  have  remembered  her  by  the  dormouse 
asleep  in  the  hollow  of  her  palm.  That  small  indi- 
cation of  her  love  of  soft  things  to  touch  he  forgot  at 
the  time,  though  over  it  for  a  moment  they  had  made 
friends. 


CHAPTER   XIII 

A    CHAPTER    OF    PURSUITS 

\  FEW  months  later  the  boys  were  together  again, 
making  the  most  of  the  four  weeks  following  on 
Christmas.  On  one  of  their  last  days  of  holiday  they 
went  off  to  a  meet  on  the  outskirts  of  Pedlar's  Thicket. 
With  luck,  and  intelligence  to  forecast  events,  it  was 
possible  for  one  on  foot  to  see  a  good  part  of  the  run, 
always  supposing  it  avoided  the  fiasco  of  a  breakaway, 
into  the  depths  of  Randogger.  It  was  difficult  country ; 
but  foxes  were  plentiful,  and  carried  on  traditions  to 
which  skilful  huntsmen  had  learned  to  play  up.  Stead- 
fast pedestrians  attending  each  meet  might  hope  to  see 
something  of  the  finish  at  least  twice  in  a  season.  A  cut 
over  Beacon  Hill  at  the  right  moment,  in  the  direction  of 
Fox's  Gully,  was  in  nine  cases  out  of  ten  the  thing  to 
reckon  for;  the  hunt  that  had  vanished  to  the  west  wouM 
reappear  setting  eastward  once  more,  on  a  last  scamper 
back  to  the  borders  of  Randogger.  There  below  the  eye, 
the  last  heat  decided  itself;  often  it  was  in  favour  of  the 
fox. 

The  boys  went  off  to  the  meet  in  high  spirits,  for  they 
knew  the  country-side,  and  were  confident  of  their  powers. 
On  the  road  they  were  passed  by  sharp-trotting  riders 
in  twos  and  threes.  Young  Hannam  seemed  to  know 
most  of  them :  one  he  saluted  was  a  lady  who  came  riding 
solitary,  with  a  bleak  face  and  dark  imperious  eye. 
Tristram  had  his  first  sight  of  Lady   Pctwyn.     Behind 

140 


A    CHAPTER    OF    PURSUITS  141 

her  back  Raymond  made  a  wry  face.  "  Look  how  she 
rides,  though !  "  he  was  forced  to  exclaim.  "  She's  a 
capital  old  Tartar !  " 

"  But  she  isn't  old,"  objected  Tristram. 

"  See  her  off  horseback  and  you'd  say  so !  "  said  his 
friend.  "  She's  fifty-five  if  she's  a  day.  Goes  mostly  on 
one  leg :  no  one  sees  her  hardly  except  riding." 

"  Is  that  why  she  never  comes  to  Church  ? " 

"  No ;  or,  if  it  is,  it's  the  least  reason.  She'd  loathe  the 
notion.  My  father  says  she's  a  veritable  pagan.  '  Old 
humgruffin  '  is  my  name  for  her." 

The  subject  of  their  discussion  had  disappeared  from 
view,  when  a  groom  came  clattering  down  the  road 
behind  them,  and  pulled  up  to  ask:  "  Mr.  Raymond,  has 
my  lady  been  along  ?  " 

Raymond  nodded  him  ahead :  the  man  was  off.  He 
vanished  over  the  rise  to  reappear  presently,  retracing 
his  way  at  double  speed. 

"  Didn't  you  find  her  ?  "  Raymond  sang  out. 

"  Find  her?  Yes;  damn  her,  I  did!  "  cried  the  man  in 
irate  tones,  and  was  gone. 

The  boys  laughed.  Raymond  said  :  "  That's  what  she's 
like.  Jove !  she's  always  scratching  and  fighting  them. 
But  she  keeps  them,  and  they  stick  to  her.  It's  her 
money,  I  suppose.  She's  a  generous  old  jade;  you  may 
give  her  that !  " 

Tristram  queried  —  then,  how  about  Cob's  Hole,  and 
the  poor  people  living  there  in  ram-shackle  hovels  at 
high  rent :  all  workers  on  the  estate. 

"  Oh,"  explained  Ray,  "  that's  where  MacAllister,  the 
bailiff,  comes  in :  he's  a  skin-flint,  and  has  his  pickings, 
you  bet !  " 

Upon  the  field  they  saw  Lady  Petwyn  again,  and 
heard  her  in  high  voice  and  spirits  to  the  men  gathered 
about  her.    Ladies  eyed  her  distantly.    It  was  Tristram's 


142  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

first  glance  into  the  social  grades ;  but  the  sight,  had  he 
been  old  enough  to  calculate  on  its  significance,  would 
have  been  misleading:  Lady  Petwyn's  reputation  stood 
high ;  and  the  distance,  for  the  most  part,  was  of  her  own 
choosing. 

The  hounds  were  already  at  work  in  the  adjoining 
wood.  Lady  Petwyn  cast  an  eye  round  for  her  missing 
man.  She  signalled  Raymond  across  to  her.  "  If  we're 
off,"  she  said,  "  when  my  fool  returns,  send  him  to  wait 
in  the  lower  lane  below  Beacon  Farm ;  that'll  be  safe 
unless  we  go  altogether  in  the  other  direction,  then,  he 
must  simply  follow,  and  catch  me  up  when  he  can." 

Raymond  said,  "  But  I  shan't  be  here,  Lady  Petwyn !  " 

She  said  brusquely,  "  Then  I  ask  you  to  be.  I  can't 
risk  going  without  my  food.  If  you  like  to  bring  it  on 
yourself,  tell  him  to  mount  you:  you  ride?  " 

Raymond  produced  a  packet  of  his  own  and  presented 
it  with  a  gallant  air.  It  indicated  the  farthest  he  would 
do  for  the  satisfaction  of  her  whims. 

"  Good !  "  said  the  lady,  and  took  it  without  more  ado. 
"  Exchange  is  no  robbery." 

Raymond  returned  to  his  companion,  chuckling  over 
her  graspingness  and  lack  of  conscience.  "  They  say 
she's  the  greediest  woman  in  the  county,  and  I  believe  it 
now !  "  he  declared,  prompted  by  personal  loss ;  and  in 
that  at  least  did  the  dame  an  injustice,  since  it  was  more 
the  imperative  demands  of  disease  than  of  health  which 
made  her  fierce  for  her  food.  She  would  have  eaten 
crusts  to  ride  bareback  steeds  rather  than  stay  at  home 
and  live  on  cushions  and  French  cookery.  All  she  did 
was  with  such  an  air  of  head-strong  will  as  to  earn  her  a 
reputation  for  more  vices  than  she  possessed. 

Once  off,  and  they  had  not  long  to  wait,  the  lads  saw 
little  more  of  her  that  day.  Luck  was  against  them  for 
any  close  share  in  the  day's  proceedings.     Getting  to  the 


A    CHAPTER    OF    PURSUITS  143 

farther  side  of  the  Beacon  they  heard  of  an  easy  kill  a 
mile  below.  Thence  the  hounds  had  been  taken  across 
the  neck  of  the  Randoggers  to  draw  a  coppice  lying  out 
on  its  north  side.  They  followed  hot-foot,  but  arrived 
late,  and  saw  nothing  save  far  off  a  field  of  red-coats 
making  in  the  direction  of  Hiddenden :  there  was  no 
over-taking  them  on  that  line :  it  was  already  two  o'clock, 
long  after  the  reasonable  hour  for  luncheon. 

Raymond's  thoughts  ran  back  to  the  robbery  of  the 
morning.  "  Now  she's  eating  my  sandwiches ! "  he 
grumbled ;  he  had  shared  Tristram's,  with  the  result  that 
they  both  remained  hungry  as  ogres. 

Through  all  the  wide  rolling  country  before  them  was 
now  no  sign  of  the  hunt,  and  but  little  likelihood  of  its 
return.  Raymond  prayed  Providence  to  show  him  where 
lay  the  nearest  inn.  Tristram  said  a  cottage  would  do: 
where  there  was  a  roof  there  was  bread.  They  had  a 
shilling  between  them. 

Tristram's  was  the  wish  which  found  readiest  fulfil- 
ment. They  procured  bread  and  cheese  and  well-water 
from  an  old  deaf  woman  at  a  lonely  cottage  far  from  any 
broad  beaten  track.  Since  they  had  come  now  even 
beyond  the  Tramp's  reckoning,  they  shouted  down  her 
ear  to  enquire  in  what  part  of  the  world  they  were.  She 
named  the  places  round  and  the  distances :  there  seemed 
to  be  no  name  at  all  for  the  spot  where  they  were  then 
standing.  At  the  mention  of  Mander's  Hill  a  mile  away, 
Tristram  brightened  and  turned  to  his  companion,  "  Then 
I  know  where  we  will  go,"  said* he.  He  named,  as 
worth  a  visit,  the  caves  which  lay  under  shelter  of  that 
shaggy  ridge.  The  chance  of  further  adventure  made 
them  forget  to  think  if  they  were  tired,  or  of  distance  or 
of  time. 

For  the  food  she  had  already  supplied,  and  for  the 
matches  and  candle  they  now  asked  for,  the  old  woman 


144  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

refused  to  take  more  than  a  few  coppers.  Tristram  laid 
three  more  under  the  bucket  by  the  well's  mouth  as  they 
departed.  "  She  will  find  them  to-morrow,"  he  said, 
"  when  she  goes  for  her  pour  boirc,"  and  was  pleased  to 
think  of  the  little  surprise  that  lay  ahead  for  her. 

They  found  their  way  to  the  caves  with  some  difficulty ; 
gruesome  holes  to  enter.  Raymond  gave  a  groan : 
1  This  is  where  the  murder  was,"  said  he.  "  Didn't  vou 
hear  Mander's  ghost?"  The  oracular  darkness  ahead, 
sounded  like  a  blanketed  drum,  as  their  voices  rang  into 
the  crannies  and  windings  of  the  way.  They  passed  in, 
leaving  cold  daylight  behind  them.  Four  hours  elapsed 
before  they  again  crossed  that  threshold.  It  was  seven 
of  the  clock  and  a  cloudy  night,  when  the  throat  of  the 
cave  became  filled  with  boyish  laughter:  Tristram  was 
crying  what  idiots  they  had  been.  He  stumbled  out,  and 
dropping  exhausted  to  ground,  cried  :  "  Midnight !  "  Ray 
said :  "  Now  for  Mander's  ghost  to  finish  us !  " 

Up  went  Tristram's  laugh,  pealing  once  more.  "  And 
it  was  just  round  the  corner  all  the  time'  Oh,  my 
socks !':  He  held  in  his  hand  a  bunch  of  unravelled 
worsted.  Most  ludicrous  to  them  now  seemed  these  in- 
genious threadings  of  the  labyrinth.  They  had  lost  them- 
selves, and  despaired,  and  hoped,  and  hungered,  and 
thirsted,  all  within  twenty  yards  of  the  outer  world.  Only 
now  after  weary  hours  of  vain  searching  did  the  truth 
dawn  on  them. 

Tristram  rolled  helpless  against  Ray's  shoulder :  "  Oh, 
my  socks,  my  socks !  "  he  cried  again,  and  grew  voiceless. 
The  dark  wood-slopes  rang  with  the  youth's  merriment. 
But  however  they  might  laugh  and  laugh  they  were 
obliged  to  recognise  at  last  that  their  situation  was  some- 
what dismal.  They  began  to  realise,  now  that  the 
adventure  was  over,  how  dog-tired  they  really  were. 
They   had   but   two   coppers   between   them,    and    were 


A    CHAPTER    OF    PURSUITS  145 

something  like  twelve  miles  from  home.  It  was  night ; 
stars  shone  faintly  through  mist,  and  there  was  no  moon. 
Black  hummocks  of  ground  waited  to  entrap  their  feet. 

"  Through  Randogger  it  would  only  be  eight,"  said 
Tristram ;  "  if  we  could  find  the  way  we  came,  it  would 
cut  off  all  Hiddenden." 

Raymond  voted  for  the  short  cut.  "  Only  save  us," 
said  he,  "  from  getting  lost  again !  " 

"  I'm  all  right,"  Tristram  declared,  "  once  we  hit  on  the 
right  track  ;  then's  it  due  west.  I  can  do  that  by  instinct : 
it's  my  bump  of  locality." 

Randogger  they  came  to  after  two  miles  of  stumbling 
in  rutty  lanes. 

"  This  looks  like  it,"  said  Tristram,  peering  through  a 
black  hole  in  the  boundaries,  beside  which  only  a  ruined 
gate-post  remained.  "If  the  stars  would  show  up,  one 
could  make  quite  sure.  Hullo,  here  are  two  paths ;  right 
hand  must  mean  west  —  come  on  !  " 

A  hundred  yards  further,  he  toppled  head-foremost  into 
a  gully  down  which  the  track  unexpectedly  descended. 
A  miry  bottom  broke  his  fall,  but  did  not  altogether  save 
him ;  he  picked  himself  out,  dazed  and  shaken.  "  Oh, 
I  say !  "  he  held  his  hand  up  to  his  forehead,  "  I've  a 
bump  of  locality  the  size  of  a  hen's  egg  here !  "  cried  he. 

Raymond  helped  him  to  his  feet.  They  tramped 
stolidly  along,  holding  arms.  The  Tramp  carried  a  swim- 
ming head,  and  reckoned  little  of  the  way.  An  hour's 
heavy  plodding  seemed  to  bring  them  nowhere. 

"  It's  the  cave  over  again ! "  growled  Raymond. 
"  Whenever  will  we  get  home  ?  " 

"  Oh,  bother  it !  "  sighed  Tristram.  "  It's  not  home,  it's 
bed,  or  a  place  to  sit  down,  I  want  now !  I'm  walking 
without  socks.  Home's  ten  miles  off  by  now,  I  guess ;  " 
he  went  on,  "  and  we  are  going  away  from  it ;  the  very 
name  makes  me  sick !     That  cave's  haunted ;  Mander's 


» 


-146  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

ghost  hangs  out  in  it ;  Maunder  must  be  his  real  name. 
Now  we've  got  to  maunder  up  and  down  for  ever  more. 
You  and  I  aren't  real  people  any  more;  we  are  ghosts; 
we  came  out  of  that  cave  dead !  " 

His  companion  bade  him  "  shut  up." 

"  Better  to  know  when  you  are  dead,"  persisted  the 
Tramp,  "  because  then  you  don't  expect  anything,  and 
won't  be  disappointed  at  not  getting  it.  Even  to  meet 
the  Devil  now  would  be  cheering.  What's  the  time? 
Have  you  a  match  left  ?  " 

Raymond  struck  a  light  and  discovered  that  it  was 
nearer  nine  than  eight. 

The  Tramp  groaned.  "  Doesn't  knowing  the  time  make 
one  hungry?"  he  remarked. 

"  Why  did  you  ask,  then  ?  " 

"  Being  hungry's  not  a  bad  thing  if  one  wants  to  have 
something  to  think  of.  If  you  think  about  getting  home, 
your  heart  goes  into  your  boots ;  think  of  food,  and  it 
stops  at  your  stomach,  and  that's  only  half-way.  What 
are  we  walking  into  ?  " 

It  was  a  gate.  "  Well,  that  shows  we  are  somewhere, 
at  any  rate !  "  was  Tristram's  comment.  '  We  aren't  so 
dead  as  I  thought  we  were." 

They  were  in  fields ;  uncertain  forms  loomed  ahead 
seeming  to  be  farm-buildings.  To  the  boys'  great  relief 
a  faint  light  showed  stationary  between  two  large  bulks 
of  shade.  These  turned  out  to  be  ricks  stranded  lonely 
in  the  now  bare  field  which  had  supplied  their  building. 
Wattles  made  an  enclosure  of  the  intervening  space. 
There,  over  the  light  of  a  lantern,  stooped  a  besmocked 
figure  in  an  old  beaver  hat.  Catching  a  glimpse  of  what 
was  within,  Raymond  said,  "  Why,  there's  lambing  going 
on  ;  it's  early  !  " 

They  halted  to  look  in  over  the  fence,  and  beheld  dis- 
tressed  maternity.      The   man   in   the   smock,    intent   on 


A    CHAPTER    OF    PURSUITS  147 

humane  service,  was  too  much  wrapped  up  in  his  em- 
ployment to  take  notice  of  their  approach.  When  Ray- 
mond called  out,  "  Gaffer,  will  you  tell  us  where  we  are? 
we  are  out  of  our  reckonings,"  it  seemed  that  for  the 
second  time  that  day  he  had  put  the  question  to  one  hard 
of  hearing.  The  man  made  no  start  at  a  voice  thus  com- 
ing to  him  out  of  the  darkness :  he  finished  the  matter  in 
hand  before  enquiring  in  a  soft  high  voice  whither  they 
were  intending  to  go. 

Raymond  was  naming  the  Alwyn  district ;  Tristram, 
with  the  conviction  of  exhausted  energies,  broke  in,  and 
declared  for  "  food  and  bed."  Where  they  might  be  he 
cared  not. 

The  three  Alwyns  were  eight  miles  away,  they  heard. 

"  Where  are  we  now  ?  "  asked  Raymond ;  and  was  told 
"  Hiddenden." 

"  Then  we've  come  the  round  after  all !  "  he  declared, 
utterly  vexed  at  their  continued  ill-luck. 

Tristram  said,  "  We've  maundered !  "  as  though  the 
thing  were  Fate's,  and  had  to  be. 

But  concern  for  themselves  came  to  be  forgotten  for  a 
while;  under  their  eyes  a  very  common  tragedy  was 
taking  place.  The  stricken  ewe  stretched  herself  ineffec- 
tively in  a  last  effort  to  overcome  destiny,  and  gave  up 
the  struggle.  Her  life  went  out  in  a  few  gasps ;  a  meek, 
pathetic,  almost  human  resignation  seemed  to  come 
upon  her  at  the  moment  of  death.  In  the  dark  and 
chilly  atmosphere  sounded  the  feeble  bleating  of  a  new- 
born lamb. 

The  man  in  the  smock  showed  an  agitation  in  which 
something  of  resentment  mingled ;  yet  he  spoke  mildly. 
"  The  poor  dam,  the  poor  dam !  "  he  muttered,  smoothing 
down  the  thick  fleece  with  his  hand.  "  Three  mortal 
hours  of  pain,  and  this  for  the  end  to  it  all." 

Without  moving  to  look  round  he  addressed  himself 


148  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

to  his  hearers :  '  'Twas  a  sorry  chance :  the  hounds  come 
along  by  here  to-clay,  and  killed  in  the  very  paddock 
where  a  dozen  of  'em  were.  Of  course  they  were  all 
about  the  place  then,  and  the  mischief  was  done.  The 
other  she'p  were  all  right,  but  this  one ;  aye,  it  was  a  case 
from  the  first ;  she  lay  panting  and  never  moved  till  her 
turns  took  her. 

Tristram  had  begun  peering  round  to  get  a  glimpse  of 
the  speaker's  face.  When  presently  the  latter  rose  and, 
holding  the  lamb  in  one  arm,  stooped  to  take  up  his  lan- 
tern, its  rays  fell  strongly  on  his  large  horse-like  features. 
The  boy  recognised  his  old  childish  horror. 

"  It's  Daddy  Wag-top !  "  he  whispered. 

The  yeoman  showed  he  had  keen  hearing.  "  Aye,"  he 
said,  "I'm  Daddy  Wag-top;  that's  what  they  call  me. 
Who  may  you  be  ?  " 

The  boys  gave  their  names. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  you'll  not  get  home  to-night,  I 
reckon;  come  along  wi'  me."  He  added  with  a  queer 
note  of  apology,  "  I  ask  you  to  be  so  good ; "  and  started 
to  show  them  the  way.  "  You  say  you  are  hungry,"  he 
said  presently  over  his  shoulder;  "I  dunno'  wdiat  may 
be  in  the  house,  but  whatever  it  is  you'll  be  quite  wel- 
come." 

The  path  led  through  dark  farm-buildings  and  a  low 
door  into  the  black  opaqueness  of  an  interior.  They 
sounded  their  way  along  a  passage,  their  host  murmur- 
ing apologetically  that  the  woman  who  did  for  him  left 
for  home  at  eight  o'clock.  The  very  mention  of  such  an 
arrangement  indicated  a  strange  solitariness  of  habit. 

When  a  light  showed,  they  found  themselves  in  a 
heavily  beamed  room,  with  tiled  floor ;  a  broad  ingle 
seat,  made  comfortable  with  patchwork  cushions,  enclosed 
the  hearth.  Two  dogs  came  out  of  the  ashes  and 
wagged  a  dubious  welcome.  The  boys  dropped  like  two 
stones. 


A    CHAPTER    OF    PURSUITS  149 

"  Put  your  feet  up !  "  said  their  host. 

Removing  their  boots  they  did  so,  and  were  thankful. 

"  Oh,  I  forgot ;  I'm  all  over  mud !  "  said  Tristram,  and 
got  up  again. 

Daddy  Wag-top  viewed  him  with  a  concerned  eye. 
"  You've  had  a  fall?"  said  he.  Opening  a  deep  dresser, 
he  drew  out  a  clean  smock.  "  Lie  on  that,"  was  his 
advice. 

"No,  I'll  put  it  on,"  said  the  boy,  "if  I  may?"  It 
swathed  him  to  his  ankles ;  within  the  sleeves  his  hands 
rambled  helplessly  till  he  had  turned  back  six  inches  of 
wrist. 

Raymond  could  not  but  laugh  out  loud  at  the  sight  he 
presented.  "  You  look  like  a  tramp  in  a  snow-drift,"  said 
he,  when  the  other  had  settled  back  on  to  his  bench. 
Light  and  warmth  restored  their  spirits. 

Daddy  Wag-top's  first  care  was  for  the  sock-lamb. 
Laying  it  in  a  basket  by  the  hearth  he  fetched  rum,  and 
milk  which  he  set  to  warm ;  a  rude  feeding-bottle  was 
in  waiting.  "  Young  gentlemen,"  said  he,  "  I  ask  your 
pardon ;  but  accidents  have  to  be  attended  to  first." 

They  made  apologies  in  return  for  disturbing  his  quiet. 

;'  It's  a  pleasure,"  said  he,  "  that  don't  often  happen  to 
me." 

Pity  caught  Tristram  by  the  throat :  he  looked  at  this 
solitary  man  from  whom  he  had  fled  when  a  child.  Now 
he  seemed  a  creature  dignified  past  the  ordinary  of  man- 
kind. The  old  beaver  laid  aside  showed  a  high  forehead 
seamed  with  care ;  a  sort  of  perplexed  thought  had  set 
its  mark  there.  Ashamed  of  his  panic  of  six  years  ago, 
the  boy  wished  genuinely  to  make  amends. 

'  You  are  awfully  good  to  trouble  about  us,"  he  de- 
clared half  shyly.    "  Will  you  tell  us  your  name?  " 

"  My  name?  "  said  their  host ;  "  Bagstock  —  Benjamin 
Bagstock ;  but  few  use  it :  '  Wag-top '  is  like  enough,  and 
comes  easier." 


150  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

It  was  very  true :  the  nickname  did  fit ;  but  to  the  two 
lads  he  was  Mr.  Bagstock  thenceforward.  Behind  his 
back,  when  preparations  of  the  meal  took  him  out  of  the 
chamber,  Raymond  thumped  his  fist  down  with  the  re- 
mark, "  I  tell  you  what,  Tramp,  that  old  boy's  a  by-ordi- 
nary good  sort;  he's  a  gentleman!  " 

The  notion  was  aided  by  the  sight  they  had  of  walls 
lined  with  books.  While  their  host  was  bringing  them 
their  supper  from  the  rear,  Raymond  got  up  and  examined 
the  titles. 

"  Hullo !  "  he  sang  out,  "  Classics  !  —  Livy,  Horace, 
Virgil,  and  no  end  to  them !  Here's  one  whose  name  I 
can't  read;  it's  rubbed  off.  By  Jove,  though,  they  are 
dusty !  He  doesn't  take  them  down  often,  I  think.  Here's 
Homer,  too ;  and  commentaries  without  end.  Don't  you 
feel  small,  Tramp?" 

"  I  do,  in  this  thing ;  "  Tristram  indicated  the  smock. 
"  It  seems  a  sort  of  pastoral  doctor's  gown ;  graduates 
wore  them  once,  didn't  they  ?  —  regular  smocks  —  in 
Milton's  day,  I  mean.  '  For  we  were  shepherds  on  the 
self-same  hill,'  "  he  quoted  to  support  his  contention;  but 
the  mere  sound  of  English  in  verse  caused  Ray's  mind 
to  become  unintelligent. 

The  farmer  returned,  and  found  that  young  gentleman 
still  nosing  his  book-shelves  with  a  puzzled  air.  The 
youth  spoke  respectfully  :  — 

"  Mr.  Bagstock,  you  seem  to  be  a  scholar." 

"  Seem !  is  about  all  I  can  do,"  answered  his  host,  set- 
ting down  provender  on  the  board.  '  They  were  my 
father's  books  before  me;  they're  not  mine.  I  can  only 
sit  and  look  at  the  outsides  of  them,  or,  now  and  then  — 
now  and  then,  for  the  sake  of  old  memories,  I  take  one 
in  my  hands.  Young  gentlemen,  draw  up  chairs  for 
yourselves"  (he  spoke  from  over  a  saucepan  into  which 
he  was  setting  down  eggs  to  boil)  ;  "  you  are  welcome  to 


A    CHAPTER    OF    PURSUITS  151 

everything  but  the  milk  and  the  rum,  which  must  go  to 
the  feeding-bottle.  If  you  are  for  saying  grace  over  such 
poor  fare,  let  it  be  Latin :  Latin  was  my  father's  lan- 
guage ;  I've  lost  the  sound  of  it,  but  my  ears  would  wel- 
come it  again.  I  beg  you  to  begin."  He  left  them  to 
fetch  in  ale. 

"  Latin,  eh  ? "  quoth  Raymond,  with  a  wry  face. 
"  Benedictus !  Benny  Bagstock  says  my  sentiments  for 
me!  "  and  with  that  by  way  of  thanksgiving  they  fell  to. 

Their  host  had  no  need  to  apologise  of  poor  fare  to 
such  appetites.  The  boys  out  of  politeness  to  one  thus 
almost  forced  into  entertaining  them,  made  a  point  of 
talking,  in  spite  of  weariness  and  the  rage  their  mouths 
had  for  food  and  drink.  It  was  evident  that  their  coming 
was  a  welcome  event  in  that  lonely  abode. 

"  Your  father,  Mr.  Bagstock,  will  you  tell  us  of  him?  " 
asked  Tristram.     "  Was  he  a  great  scholar?  " 

"  Nothing  more  than  a  country  school-master," 
answered  his  host ;  "  but  a  student,  sir ;  he  never  called 
himself  a  scholard.  Books  were  like  flesh  and  blood  to 
him.  He  used  to  say  that  to  know  Latin  made  one  equal 
to  men  of  birth.  The  Squire  of  the  place  where  he  lived 
thought  so  too :  would  have  him  over  of  an  evening  to 
see  him,  lent  him  books,  and  at  his  death  left  him  a  part 
of  his  library  —  what  you  see  here."  He  waved  his  hand 
round  the  chamber  with  a  dejected  air. 

"  It  was  then  I  remember  him,"  he  went  on.  "  A  little 
money  accompanied  the  bequest.  We  came  here;  my 
mother  did  the  farming,  did  everything ;  I  cannot  re- 
member her  without  something  in  her  hand  to  do.  My 
father,  I  fear,  helped  her  but  little :  he  was  a  wonderful 
man ;  at  fifty  he  had  the  spirits  of  a  boy  at  having  found 
leisure  to  become  a  scholard.  Aye,  he  used  to  sit  here, 
where  I  do  now,  and  burn  rush-dips  over  the  page  (we 
didn't  have  candles  in  those  days).     Often  he  took  me  in 


152  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

hand,  making  me  read  aloud  to  him.  I  learned  things  by 
heart  too ;  he  believed  I  should  come  at  it  better  that  way 
—  get  it  into  me  '  living/  he  used  to  say ;  but  he  died  too 
soon.  On  his  death-bed  he  was  talking  Latin.  '  Timor 
mortis  conturbat  me,'  I  remember  him  saying  over  and 
over,  till  the  sound  of  it  stuck  in  my  head.  The  parson, 
when  I  repeated  it  to  him,  told  me  it  meant  '  fear  of 
death.'  He  had  a  great  work  he  was  about,  and  thought 
to  finish,  though  it  was  hardly  begun ;  the  '  Iliad  '  into 
Latin  hexameters  it  was  to  be." 

Farmer  Bagstock  named  the  scope  of  the  work  confi- 
dently, as  though  it  had  merely  been  a  question  of  time  to 
get  such  a  thing  ended.  The  conception  was  the  achieve- 
ment. It  was  clear  to  his  mind  that,  had  the  thing  been 
done,  his  father  would  have  ranked  by  Homer  for  future 
generations. 

Raymond  enquired  rashly,  "Have  you  it:  —  what  he 
did  get  finished?  " 

Bagstock  spoke  low.  ''  None  of  it,  sir,  none.  He  took 
it  into  his  hands  just  before  he  died,  and  never  let  go 
of  it  again.  My  mother  thought  it  a  sort  of  madness; 
she  had  it  buried  with  him.  It  lies  yonder  in  Hidden- 
den  churchyard,  six  feet  under  the  ground."  He  spoke 
tremendously,  as  though  a  matter  of  vast  significance 
lay  waiting  there  till  the  Last  Trump  should  call  it  back 
to  life. 

"  Strange,  gentlemen,  is  it  not  ?  the  unfinished  things 
which  lie  waiting  in  dead  minds  till  God  needs  them." 

The  boys  could  not  but  be  impressed  by  so  much  con- 
viction and  the  simple  eloquence  of  his  speech.  This 
peasant-farmer,  of  crude  knowledge  and  ridiculous  ex- 
terior, inspired  them  with  respect. 

Tristram  said,  "  Mr.  Bagstock,  how  much  Latin  do  you 
know?  " 

'  To  be  honest,"  answered  the  farmer,  "  I  should  say 


A    CHAPTER    OF    PURSUITS  153 

none.     I  have  the  sound  of  some,  that  is  all ;  and  even 
that  grows  less  every  day.     Hear  now !  " 

He  spoke  five  lines  of  Virgil,  the  opening  of  the  seventh 
book  of  the  "yEneid,"  stumbled,  and  came  to  a  standstill. 
Raymond  prompted  him.  "  Right,  right !  "  he  cried,  his 
eye  lighting  up,  and  pieced  on  another  four  or  five  lines, 
till  memory  gave  out.  His  tongue  pitched  in  a  sea  of 
false  quantities.  Stopping  abruptly  he  said,  "  Then  you 
know  Latin,  sir?  " 

"  I  learn  it,"  said  Raymond  with  honesty,  adding, 
"  You  have  the  books  there,  Mr.  Bagstock ;  can't  you 
refer  to  them  when  your  memory  breaks  down  ?  " 

The  farmer  shook  his  head :  "  I  can't  find  the  places. 
What  was  that  from,  that  I  said  just  now  ?  " 

Raymond  told  him. 

He  reached  down  the  book  with  excitement,  and  had 
the  place  found  for  him.  He  plunged,  reading  aloud  with 
horrid  sing-song  intonation,  which  suddenly  fell  into  false 
quantities  and  breaches  of  metre.  Seeming  to  know  some- 
thing was  amiss,  he  halted.  "  It  was  to  there  I  learned," 
he  explained.  "  I  was  seven  years  old  when  my  father 
first  put  that  into  my  mouth ;  it  is  many  a  day  since  most 
of  it  went  away.    I  was  only  ten  when  he  died." 

The  old  fellow  became  so  stirred  by  the  returning  recol- 
lection that  the  boys  were  almost  ashamed  to  remain 
observers  of  his  emotion.  They  had  risen  from  the  table, 
leaving  a  board  fairly  cleared.  Tristram  went  across  to 
look  at  the  lamb,  now  quietly  reposing  in  the  glow  from 
the  hearth. 

Bagstock  recurred  to  his  duties  as  host.  "  Young 
gentlemen,"  said  he,  "  excuse  me  for  one  moment ;  to- 
night must  be  a  feast !  "  He  disappeared  and  came  back 
bearing  two  dusty  black  bottles :  he  exhibited  them  with 
decent  complaisance  as  containing  stuff  whose  worth  he 
was  sure  of. 


154  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

"  This,"  he  said,  "  is  Madeira,  sent  to  my  father  by  his 
Squire  friend  in  the  old  days :  a  Christmas  gift ;  three 
dozen  they  were  once.  '  Wine,  wisdom,  and  women  be 
three  good  things,'  the  Squire  wrote  when  sending  them. 
'  You've  samples  of  two  '  —  my  father's  book-learning, 
and  my  mother,  he  meant  to  say  — '  now  sample  the 
third!'  The  three  dozen  came  regularly  every  year  so 
long  as  the  Squire  lived.  My  father  left  some  half  dozen 
still  unopened  when  he  died;  they  are  as  he  left  them. 
Ah,  well !  you  wonder  at  me,  but  this  is  how  it  was :  he 
would  sit  at  his  books,  I  by  him,  my  mother  over  there 
knitting  or  mending.  Supper  over,  out  would  come  this 
wine.  My  father  would  take  a  glass  and  stand  it  by  him : 
a  bottle  lasted  him  a  week.  Now  and  then,  when  he  had 
taught  me  anything  new,  he  would  give  me  perhaps  a 
quarter  of  a  glass  in  water.  I  used  to  taste  it,  and  think 
it  strong  stuff  in  those  days.  He  would  say  —  ah,  I  can't 
quote  it  now  —  some  name  to  do  with  the  Muses,  and  I 
would  toss  off  the  draught,  and  say  my  piece  over  again 
to  him.  Maybe,  if  I  learned  more,  he  might  offer  me  a 
second ;  then  my  mother  would  say :  '  Ben,  it's  time  you 
were  in  bed ! '  Latinity  was  not  in  my  poor  mother's 
composition ;  how  she  escaped  it,  having  had  me,  I  can't 
say.  So,  you  see,  I  used  to  taste  wine  as  a  reward  for  my 
new  learning.  Now,  when  learning  is  past  me,  I  let  it 
stand.  But  for  the  sake  of  that  memory  I've  sat  here  on 
winter  nights  with  books  at  my  elbow  and  a  bottle  un- 
opened at  my  side,  and  thought  of  him.  You'll  understand 
he  was  a  wonderful  man !  " 

The  boys  began  to  think  so. 

Bagstock  drew  out  the  corks,  and  filled  three  glasses. 

"  To-night,"  he  said,  "  I  come  back  to  where  I  left  off 
when  a  boy ;  I  feel  as  if  my  father  were  in  the  room. 
Master  Hannam,  Master  Gavney,  I  beg  you:  you  have 
the  books  there  —  you  may  delight  my  ears  once  more. 
Things,  as  you  read,  perhaps  I  shall  remember." 


A    CHAPTER    OF    PURSUITS  155 

It  was  a  strange  situation :  two  boys  without  a  particle 
of  love  for  Latin,  and  only  a  compulsory  acquaintance 
therewith,  set  down  by  an  old  man  with  no  knowledge  of 
its  meaning,  to  spout  to  him  extracts  from  the  poets. 

"  Get  hold  of  something  we  know !  "  suggested  Tris- 
tram ;  and  Raymond  found  a  place  to  begin. 

Now  and  then  between  them  the  boys  knocked  together 
a  rough  construe.  Daddy  Wag-top  leaned  over  the  table 
in  a  state  of  ecstatic  happiness,  and  sipped  nectar  while 
the  numbers  rolled.  The  youths  also  took  a  taste  of  his 
wine,  and  exchanged  shy  glances.  No  doubt  it  had  once 
been  liquor  fit  for  a  lord,  but  its  day  had  gone  by  while 
waiting  in  Bagstock's  wine-bin.  It  seemed  now  to  repent 
of  a  wasted  and  heady  youth,  in  flavours  that  bore  a  fanci- 
ful resemblance  to  sack-cloth  and  ashes. 

Its  taste  did  not  dim  their  host's  enthusiasm  for  its 
history  ;  he  poured  it  down  his  gullet  on  trust,  past  a  palate 
that  told  him  nothing  of  its  decay. 

"  A  fine  wine !  "  he  cried,  holding  it  up  to  the  light ; 
"  my  father  used  to  say  so ;  he  was  a  good  judge.  Young 
gentlemen,  I  shall  remember  this  night  while  I  live,  and 
thank  you  for  it !  Come ;  I  fill  up  your  glasses  and  my 
own  ;  another  bottle  remains.  Ah,  now  I  recall  the  name  ; 
it  comes  back  to  me !  Mnemosyne !  he  used  to  say :  have  I 
it  right  ?  Memory,  the  mother  of  song ;  strange  that  I 
should  have  forgotten  it !  "  He  struck  his  forehead.  "  To 
be  sure!  to  be  sure!  I  could  say  that  now;  I  have  not 
repeated  it,  since  when  ?  " 

He  broke  forth  once  more  into  recitative :  — 

fis   e(f>ar    ev^o/xevos '    tov  8'  «kAvc  <Pol(3o<;  'A7ro'AA.<oy. 

he  began,  and  came  presently  upon  famous  lines.     He 
gave  them  with  gesture,  seeming  to  know  their  meaning. 
"  'Twas  so  my  father  used  to  bid  me  say  it,"  he  ex- 
plained to  his  hearers. 


156  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

Raymond  said,  "  That's  Greek." 

"  Greek !  "  Bagstock  would  scarcely  believe  his  ears 
or  his  tongue :  to  have  stumbled  on  such  good  fortune ! 
"  It's  forty  years  ago,"  he  cried,  "  I  believed  I  had  for- 
gotten it.  The  one  bit  of  Greek  he  ever  taught  me,  and 
now  not  to  know  it  from  Latin  !  Mnemosyne !  "  —  he 
uttered  the  name  with  an  exalted  air  —  "  it  came  when 
her  name  returned  to  me  !  " 

He  emptied  the  glass  and  refilled  it  again.  After  that 
there  was  no  holding  him ;  classic  stammerings  broke 
from  his  tongue ;  old  cells  of  memory  opened  under  the 
influence  of  the  fusty  beverage  as  it  mounted  through 
impoverished  blood  to  the  hungry  brain.  So  across  the 
board  Bacchus  sat  in  pantaloon  age,  and  tippled  into  a 
riotous  flow  of  speech. 

'  Poor  old  chap !  "  murmured  Ray,  and  seized  the  bot- 
tle. '  You  must  help,  Tramp ;  we  shall  be  ill ;  but  a  little 
more,  and  he'll  be  dead !  " 

The  charitable  youths  got  the  remainder  of  a  bottle 
empty  between  them ;  under  the  table  portions  had  to  be 
spilled  when  loathing  stomachs  refused  all  further  service. 
Old  Wag-top  had  passed,  then,  beyond  cognisance  of  the 
small  things  that  went  on  round  him.  His  voice  took  on 
a  triumphant  ring,  till  he  discerned  dimly  before  him 
two  heads  fairly  dropping  with  fatigue. 

"  Ah,  yes,"  he  murmured,  vague  words  of  hospitality. 
1  Tired  of  course ;  want  your  beds ;  I'll  show  you  the 
way,"  and  sat  helpless. 

Raymond  replied,  "If  you  are  sure  that  we  are  not 
turning  you  out  of  yours;  rather  than  that  we'll  lie  down 
here."' 

His  host  declared  there  was  a  bed  for  them  to  share. 
They  helped  him  to  mount  the  stairs,  and  were  pointed 
to  a  chamber  roughly  got  ready.  In  his  sober  state, 
Daddy  Wag-top  must  have  had  the  hands  of  a  house- 


A    CHAPTER    OF    PURSUITS  157 

wife,  to  make  such  swift  and  quiet  preparations  for  his 
guests. 

In  his  break-down  they  felt  quite  tenderly  grateful  to 
the  old  fellow ;  they  saw  him  into  his  room,  set  his 
candle  in  a  place  of  safety,  and  shook  his  hands,  bidding 
him  good-night. 

Feeling  the  cares  of  the  establishment  upon  them  they 
descended  to  lock  up,  a  rather  needless  precaution,  and 
to  coax  the  sock-lamb  to  its  last  possible  feed  for  the 
night.  Their  efforts  made  it  querulous  and  wakeful ; 
packing  it  warm  they  left  the  bottle  by  its  side,  hoping 
that  if  it  grew  hungry  in  the  small  hours,  it  would  have 
sense  to  discover  comfort  for  itself. 

It  was  long  after  eleven  o'clock  when  they  crawled  up 
again  to  the  bed  that  awaited  them. 

"  Oh,  Lord !  we've  earned  it !  "  cried  Tristram,  for 
prayer  and  thanksgiving,  and  dropped  himself,  smock 
and  all,  into  the  sheets.  He  and  his  companion  lay  like 
logs  felled  to  earth  until  the  next  day's  sun  was  abroad, 
and  Bagstock  himself,  restored  and  in  his  right  mind, 
came  to  rouse  them  to  breakfast. 

At  parting  they  found  it  difficult  to  speak  their  own 
gratitude  against  his.  The  Tramp  said,  with  final  pro- 
testation of  thanks,  "  May  we  come  again,  some  day  ?  " 
whereto  their  host  replied,  his  face  hungry  with  anticipa- 
tion of  such  a  pleasure,  "  'Twould  make  me  young  again 
if  you  did !  " 

One  of  them,  at  least,  required  no  further  invitation. 
So  it  was  not  the  last  time  that  Daddy  Wag-top  heard 
the  Classics. 


CHAPTER  XIV 


THE    WATER-FINDER 


~D  EADERS  who  remember  Tristram's  early  inclina- 
tions will  not  imagine  he  was  to  be  kept  out  of 
water,  because  its  cool  silver  eye  beckoned  to  him  from 
the  recesses  of  a  guarded  privacy.  Even  had  there  been 
other  pools  available,  he  had  so  often  in  Raymond's 
company  been  through  the  lodge  gates  and  the  other 
locked  wickets  of  the  Hill  Alwyn  domain,  that  he  came 
at  last  to  regard  himself  as  a  privileged  trespasser, 
against  whose  comings  and  goings  no  barrier  would 
oppose  itself. 

Therein  he  reckoned  without  MacAllister.  That 
worthy  had  an  eye  on  him,  or,  at  least,  on  the  many 
footmarks  of  him  which  he  had  come  to  recognise  on 
cross-cuts  over  the  estate.  Nor  did  it  escape  his  obser- 
vation that  elsewhere  the  youth  was  to  be  met  in  Hay- 
craft's  company,  a  circumstance  in  itself  sufficient  to  make 
the  bailiff  regard  him  with  suspicion.  A  busy  popping 
up  at  Parson's  Coppice  in  the  late  autumn  had  brought 
him  to  see  from  afar  Tristram  shouldering  a  gun  at 
pheasants  that  flew  over,  out  of  the  Hill  Alwyn  covers; 
and  within  an  hour,  red-handed  from  the  business,  having 
with  him  a  brace  of  his  own  shooting,  the  boy  had  given 
him  good-day  in  passing,  as  though  being  in  league  with 
a  half-poaching  old  vagabond  who  drained  a  neighbour's 
preserve  laid  no  weight  whatever  on  his  conscience. 

158 


THE    WATER-FINDER  159 

The  Tramp  grew  aware  that  one  face  at  least  made  a 
surly  response  to  his  glances,  and  that  tawny  MacAllister 
was  no  friend  to  him.  The  man  asked  him  curtly  one 
day  —  had  he  a  gun-license  ?  and  got  for  answer,  a  state- 
ment at  how  many  hundred  yards  Tristram  chose  to  think 
he  could  bring  down  a  bird,  the  boy  regarding  his  skill 
as  a  sportsman  a  proof  of  his  right  to  practise  the  art. 
He  gave  instances. 

"  Whose  birds  ?  "  the  bailiff  wanted  to  know,  and  was 
met  by  a  cheeky  enquiry,  whether  he  thought  he  had 
hatched  them  himself,  and  whether  in  that  case,  he  was 
prepared  to  recognise  them  again  by  a  squint  in  the  left 
eye. 

Such  bandying  of  words,  left  the  makings  of  a  very 
pretty  quarrel  between  the  two.  MacAllister  coming  in 
the  following  summer  upon  Tristram  just  up  from  bath- 
ing in  one  of  the  ponds,  gave  him  curt  warning  to  keep 
away  unless  he  could  come  as  a  key-holder. 

Tristram  said,  as  if  to  ask  was  to  receive,  that  he  would 
write  to  Lady  Petwyn  for  the  privilege.  MacAllister 
retorted  that  the  matter  rested  with  him,  his  eyes  show- 
ing a  clear  negative.  Orders  against  trespassing  were 
repeated  and  with  emphasis.  On  that  Tristram  promised 
that  if  Lady  Petwyn  would  state  a  complaint  against 
him,  he  would  never  again  set  foot  on  her  acres.  His 
tone  inferred  that  he  judged  MacAllister  officious,  a  Jack- 
in-office,  and  a  boaster  of  more  power  than  he  wielded. 
.On  their  parting,  it  was  quite  evident  that  the  boy  in- 
tended to  disobey. 

His  enemy  kept  watch  for  him  around  the  ponds, 
reckoning  on  what  would  be  the  likeliest  hours  for  catch- 
ing him.  Two  days  later  he  beheld  his  quarry  bobbing 
like  a  dab-chick  midway  between  bank  and  island.  A 
short  search  under  the  trees  brought  the  bailiff  on  a 
deposit  of  raiment;  in  a  twinkling  he  beheld  his  advan- 


160  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

tage,  and  with  true  Celtic  rapacity  seized  it  to  the  titter- 
most.  MacAllister,  that  is  to  say,  was  not  content  with 
holding-  ground  which  would  have  enabled  him  to 
administer  a  sharp  wigging  under  conditions  humiliating 
to  the  culprit  immediately  on  his  landing,  but  must  re- 
move the  whole  pile  to  a  depth  of  thicket  hard  by  the 
boat-house,  whence  he  could  survey  unseen  the  approach- 
ing discomfiture  of  our  hero. 

Tristram  had  swum  round  the  island  and  out  of  sight 
up  to  the  far  end  of  the  pond ;  landing  there  he  had  raced 
back  through  the  wood  to  the  spot  where  his  cast-off 
garments  should  have  been  lying.  Behold  them  vanished ! 
MacAllister's  heavy  trail  did  not  tend  to  concealment:  the 
situation  became  clear  to  the  culprit's  understanding. 

A  very  little  stalking  was  needed  to  show  him  the 
whereabouts  of  his  enemy.  The  red-headed  bully  was  to 
be  seen  glaring  steadfastly  out  over  the  water  in  expecta- 
tion of  the  swimmer's  return ;  under  him  lay  the  bundle 
of  clothes  safely  sat  on. 

The  sight  produced  retrograde  movement :  it  was  not 
the  modesty  of  the  flesh  which  persuaded  the  boy  to 
retreat,  but  the  knowledge  that,  MacAllister  having 
planned  one  thing,  it  was  his  bounden  duty  to  plan 
another.  Beholding  MacAllister  at  watch  like  a  spider 
for  his  fly,  the  Tramp  determined  that  to  catch  the  one 
he  was  after  he  should  be  driven  into  becoming  a  water- 
spider.  ''  How  can  I  make  him  come  for  me?  "  he  cogi- 
tated, and  was  quick  at  devising  a  way. 

"Query,"  he  said  to  himself,  "can  the  beast  swim? 
In  any  case,  will  he?  "  thought  he;  and  settled  to  doubt  it. 

MacAllister's  peerings  had  become  rather  anxious; 
the  bather  was  remaining  a  long  time  at  the  head  of  the 
lake.  Possibly  the  Tramp  had  only  to  lie  hidden  close  by, 
and  curiosity  would  move  the  other  to  a  quest  up  the 
banks,  leaving  the  spoil  behind  him.    Possibly,  again,  not ; 


THE    WATER-FINDER  161 

he  might  smell  a  rat;  there  was  danger  in  delay.  Tris- 
tram crept  back  to  the  nearest  point  whence  unobserved 
he  could  slip  down  into  the  water.  Could  he  act  well 
enough  ?  he  wondered. 

Presently  MacAllister  had  the  joy  of  beholding  his 
unsuspicious  prey  swimming  slowly  towards  him.  He 
swam  low  down  in  the  water,  coming  along  by  the  further 
shore.  Thence  he  skirted,  till  passing  the  boat-house, 
and  from  there  struck  out  straight  for  his  landing-point. 

The  bailiff  now  had  him  well  under  his  eye,  a  pleasant 
morsel  to  contemplate;  all  the  virtuous  spider  in  him 
spread  out  its  claws  for  the  bait. 

All  at  once  he  was  concerned  to  notice  that  the  poor 
water-fly  was  in  difficulties;  his  mouth  ducking  up  and 
down  in  the  water,  gasped  and  blew  bubbles ;  his  strokes 
were  feeble  and  spasmodic,  making  no  way  at  all ;  exhaus- 
tion wrote  itself  over  this  swimmer's  efforts  to  keep  afloat. 
He  gathered  himself  for  a  final  struggle,  got  his  mouth 
free,  put  out  a  faint  cry  for  help,  threw  up  his  arms,  and 
went  down  like  a  stone. 

MacAllister  knew  little  about  aquatics,  had  never  seen 
a  man  drown,  and  could  not  swim.  He  raced  headlong  to 
the  boat-house,  lost  time  fumbling  to  unhasp  the  door, 
but  with  commendable  expedition  got  the  punt  unchained, 
and  thrust  out  hurry-skurry  to  the  rescue. 

Not  only  could  he  not  swim,  he  could  not  even  punt 
with  any  efficiency ;  under  his  manipulation  the  craft  zig- 
zagged and  swung  round  and  about,  making  heads  and 
tails  of  his  humane  efforts  at  life-saving. 

Half  by  blundering  force,  half  by  luck,  he  got  it  at  last 
over  the  spot  where  the  boy's  body  had  disappeared. 
He  probed  desperately  in  all  directions,  bringing  up  yards 
of  black  slime  on  the  end  of  his  pole ;  but  no  limpet  claim 
to  existence  ever  attached  weight  to  the  end  of  it. 

To  a  watcher  from  the  banks  it  might  have  been  a 

M 


162  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

laughable,  yet  also  a  piteous  sight  —  the  red  man,  strong, 
perspiring,  angry  and  helpless,  wondering  in  himself 
when  it  would  be  decent  to  throw  up  a  profitless  quest, 
and  go  off  to  bid  dredges  be  fetched  for  the  body  of  the 
silly,  hapless  youth,  whose  trespassings  had  proved  his 
undoing.  When  at  last  he  landed,  dispirited  and  aching 
from  the  exertion  to  which  he  had  been  driven,  great  at 
first  was  his  astonishment,  thereafter  his  perplexity,  and 
last  of  all  his  rage,  to  discover  that  not  the  bather  alone, 
but  his  clothes  also,  had  vanished. 

No  report  of  a  drowned  body  waiting  to  be  fished  out 
was  carried  back  by  him  to  Hill  Alwyn. 

Tristram's  wits  were  thenceforth  maliciously  at  work 
to  circumvent  a  declared  enmity.  He  heard  that  MacAl- 
lister  walked  down  to  the  ponds,  whip  in  hand,  daily. 
Not  to  show  himself  now,  under  such  a  challenge,  was  to 
appear  craven.  Had  Raymond  been  at  home,  the  Tramp 
could  have  gone  in  with  impunity,  the  keys  being  a  recog- 
nised passport  to  all  the  wilderness  portion  of  the  de- 
mesne. But  it  was  important  to  his  pride  that  he  should 
make  an  appearance  without  delay ;  then,  if  he  was  to  be 
finally  warned  off,  let  Lady  Petwyn  express  the  wish,  and 
her  grounds  should  be  rid  of  him. 

One  morning  he  ran  down  to  Little  Alwyn,  and  came 
back  primed  for  the  project.  He  undressed  in  a  tree  that 
sent  long  boughs  far  out  into  the  water.  Though  he 
conceived  that  a  bolt  for  home  under  cover  of  dusk,  in  an 
unconventional  state  of  grace  might  be  amusing,  clothes, 
after  all,  were  necessary  to  him  for  the  sake  of  argument ; 
and  to  have  his  garments  returned  to  him  the  next  day 
with  Lady  Petwyn's  or  the  MacAllister's  compliments, 
was  not  a  solution  that  fitted  with  his  notions  of  a  suc- 
cessful raid. 

Therefore,  selecting  his  tree  carefully,  as  one  which 
older  limbs  would  not  care  to  climb,  he  bound  his  raiment 


THE    WATER-FINDER  163 

to  a  high  fork,  and  dropped  from  branch  to  branch  till  he 
touched  water. 

He  returned  well-spent,  half-an-hour  later,  to  behold 
MacAllister  puzzling  in  various  directions  to  find  the 
whereabouts  of  his  clothes.  He  had  not  yet  looked  high 
enough. 

He  sighted  the  bather  a  moment  before  his  landing,  and 
came  on  well-assured  of  his  prey. 

"  Good-morning !  "  cried  Tristram,  and  swung  up  on 
to  his  bough. 

The  bailiff  watched  him  climb  with  grim  satisfaction, 
thinking  it  a  temporising  expedient  for  escaping  cap- 
ture. 

"  It's  no  use,  my  young  gentleman !  "  he  called ;  "  you 
may  just  as  well  come  down." 

"  Oh,  but  I  dress  up  here!  "  replied  Tristram,  and  pro- 
ceeded to  unpack  his  bundle.  "  Clothes,"  he  explained, 
"  have  a  habit  of  running  about  if  one  leaves  them ;  so  I 
tie  them  up  here  in  a  tree-top  cradle,  as  if  they  were 
babies.     Have  you  any  babies,  Mr.  MacAllister?" 

MacAllister  was  married  to  a  wife  who  had  proved  im- 
perfect in  her  duties  to  the  clan ;  the  family  tree  had  put 
forth  no  branch.  If  rumour  uttered  no  slander,  elsewhere 
compensating  appearances  had  been  noted.  To  be  asked 
by  the  whipper-snapper  he  was  about  to  thrash,  whether 
he  had  babies,  whitened  the  already  red-hot  rage  which 
burned  in  the  big  man's  choleric  body. 

"  What  I  do  with  babies  when  I  get  'em,"  he  sent  up 
word,  "  you  shall  know  when  you  come  down !  " 

"  Dear  me !  shall  I  ?  "  said  Tristram,  and  drew  on  a  sock 
with  fastidious  attention  to  its  fit. 

"  You  will !  "  the  other  reiterated ;  and  let  it  be  seen 
how,  flicking  his  whip. 

"  Are  you  violent  to  them?  "  the  boy  asked. 

"  I  treat  'em  how  they  deserve !  " 


164  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

"  But  if  you  do  that,  Mr.  MacAllister,  you  will  never, 
never  rear  them  !    Think  of  their  poor  mothers  !  " 

The  bailiff  swallowed  down  his  wrath,  reckoning  that  a 
little  more  waiting  would  right  the  balance  between  them. 
In  carrying  on  a  wordy  conflict  from  below  he  stood  like 
an  unhorsed  rider  at  a  tourney.  Every  insolence  where- 
with Tristram  chose  to  probe  him,  sounded  to  advantage 
from  the  lofty  position  he  then  held. 

"  I'll  think  of  your  poor  mother  when  you  show  her 
your  back  to-night !  "  said  he,  in  a  voice  that  strove  to  be 
assured  and  calm  in  its  promises. 

The  Tramp  was  all  but  dressed,  when  by  mischance 
down  went  one  of  his  boots.  His  foe  forebore  to  take 
note  of  so  small  a  windfall ;  expecting  so  much  more  he 
let  it  lie. 

Tristram  began  to  descend  from  his  bower ;  arrived  at 
one  of  the  lower  branches  he  said,  "  Mr.  MacAllister, 
would  you  throw  me  up  my  boot  ?  " 

The  bailiff  nodded  him  on  with  a  resolute  jerk  of  the 
chin.  "  You  may  just  as  well  come  now  as  ever,"  said 
he,  and  stood  ready  to  pounce  on  the  moment  of  the  boy's 
descent. 

Tristram  studied  him  as  though  for  the  first  time  getting 
a  near  view  of  some  strange  animal. 

"  Mr.  MacAllister,"  he  said,  "  you  look  quite  violent." 

"  You'll  see  me  looking  a  little  more  violent  pres- 
ently," was  the  answer. 

The  Tramp  doubted  if  that  were  possible.  "  And  you 
won't  give  me  up  my  boot?"  he  asked,  straddling  the 
bough  he  was  on. 

He  was  told  he  must  come  down  for  it. 

"  But  this  is  my  boot-tree!  "  he  said,  for  the  first  ab- 
surdity that  came  handy. 

"  And  this  is  mine!  "  broke  out  MacAllister,  brandish- 
ing. 


THE    WATER-FINDER  165 

Affecting  an  extremity  of  surprise,  Tristram  enquired, 
"  Mr.  MacAllister,  are  you  proposing  to  beat  me?"  and 
got  the  "  I  am !  "  of  an  unalterable  determination. 

Wishing  to  know  what  for,  he  was  bidden  to  remember 
he  had  had  many  warnings.  Compound  trespass  was  now 
to  bring  in  compound  interest. 

"Oh,  but  I'm  not  trespassing!"  said  Tristram,  "I'm 
visiting  at  the  Vicarage,"  and  produced  the  keys  which  he 
had  obtained  that  morning  on  loan  from  Mr.  Hannam. 

The  bailiff  took  the  intended  blow  without  the  stir  of  a 
muscle. 

"  You  weren't  visiting  there  yesterday,"  said  he,  "  and 
you  won't  be  visiting  there  to-morrow.  W'hat  I've  got  to 
say  to  you  will  be  for  t'other  time  instead  of  for  this.  I 
mean  it,  and  I'll  do  it,  and  I'll  face  the  consequences.  You 
may  come  down  for  it  when  you  like." 

Here  then  was  a  new  fact  beyond  the  Tramp's  reckon- 
ing :  he  had  fairly  miscalculated  the  man  he  had  to  deal 
with ;  but  he  had  gone  too  far  with  his  tongue  to  retreat 
now. 

"  Mr.  MacAllister,"  he  addressed  his  enemy  in  wheed- 
ling tones,  "  do  you  always  mean  what  you  say  ?  " 

"  This  time,  anyway,  my  young  master,  as  you'll  find !  " 
the  bailiff  replied. 

"  And  do  you  always  mean  what  you  do?  " 

"  You  may  say  yes  to  that." 

'  When  you  make  a  punt  go  round  and  round  on  itself, 
for  instance,  are  you  beating  the  punt,  or  is  the  punt 
beating  you  ?  " 

For  the  moment  the  bailiff  contained  his  temper.  "  Talk 
away !  young  gentleman,"  said  he,  "  you'll  be  answered 
presently." 

Tristram  said  with  an  emotional  stress  that  threw  ridi- 
cule on  the  words ;  "  Mr.  MacAllister,  you  tried  to  save 
my  life  then  !    Will  you  save  it  again  ?  " 


1 66  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

The  boy  smiled  with  meaning-,  and  beheld  a  visage  sud- 
denly inflamed :  at  last  he  had  got  MacAllister  up  to 
storming  pitch.  The  big  man  dashed  about  under  the 
boughs  and  flourished  his  whip ;  words  inarticulate  with 
wrath  flew  from  him.    Tristram  stood  up  on  his  branch. 

"  Here,  catch !  "  he  cried,  all  at  once,  and  cast  the  re- 
maining boot. 

MacAllister  saw  too  late  his  line  of  escape,  and  was 
helpless.  The  boy  ran  like  a  squirrel  along  the  bough,  out 
over  the  water,  dropped  to  a  lower,  and  plunged,  carrying 
leaves  and  twigs  with  him.  When  he  rose  he  was  far  out 
in  the  open. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  MacAllister !  "  he  cried,  "  come  and  save  me, 
come  and  save  me !  "  All  the  woods  round  rang  with  his 
laughter. 

He  was  out  upon  the  other  side  long  before  the  bailiff 
could  get  round  either  end  of  the  long  pond  to  be  after 
him.  To  run  home  bare-footed  was  nothing  to  him.  It 
was  true  MacAllister  had  his  boots:  on  the  whole,  con- 
sidering the  return  "  rise  "  got  out  of  him,  he  was  wel- 
come to  the  trophy. 

Tristram  meeting  Lizzie  Haycraft  the  day  after,  told 
her  of  the  affair  with  glee ;  and  detected  in  her  eyes,  dur- 
ing the  recital,  an  extreme  hatred  of  MacAllister's  name. 
So  bitter  was  it  she  could  not  rightly  take  in  the  laugh- 
able aspect  of  the  thing;  that  MacAllister  was  the  subject 
spoiled  everything ;  she  would  not  say  why. 

They  were  on  their  way  up  to  the  Beacon  Farm,  where 
water-scarcity  on  high  ground  and  an  easily  drained  soil 
had  cropped  up  in  an  aggravated  form.  The  dry  season 
had  made  the  only  well  on  the  premises  unusable  ;  nothing 
but  mud  came  up  from  it.  Men  were  being  employed  at 
all  hours  of  the  day  in  carting  water  up  to  the  farm. 

Under  such  conditions,  with  no  rain  fallen  for  over  a 


THE    WATER-FINDER  167 

fortnight,  a  single  spark  carried  in  their  direction  might 
mean  doom  for  the  farmer's  ricks.  There  could  be  no 
remedy  if  a  conflagration  once  started. 

After  borings  had  been  tried  for  over  a  week  without 
success,  the  farmer,  nervously  anxious  over  his  haystacks, 
was  reverting  to  an  old-world  expedient,  having  bidden  a 
reputed  dowser  come  over  from  the  neighbouring  district 
and  try  his  hand  at  divination. 

The  Tramp,  hearing  of  it  from  Lizzie,  went  over  with 
her  to  see  the  operation  in  process. 

The  water-wizard  was  not  up  to  the  time  appointed ;  he 
arrived  a  full  hour  late.  It  was  apparent  that  the  drink 
which  had  sustained  him  by  the  way  had  not  come  from 
wells.  Out  of  his  own  village  he  became  a  great  man, 
and  accepted  freely,  when  offered,  a  great  man's  privi- 
leges :  to  sit  in  an  inn  parlour  and  brag  of  his  mysterious 
powers,  meant  the  filling  of  it  to  the  profit  of  the  land- 
lord ;  thus  drink  came  cheap  to  him.  To-day,  it  had  made 
him  unpunctual  to  his  appointment. 

Farmer  Duffin,  seeing  his  state,  guessed  him  an  un- 
profitable servant  for  the  occasion,  and  swore  downright, 
that  only  for  the  job  done  should  he  receive  a  farthing  of 
his  fee.  That  was  the  bargain,  true  enough  ;  but  travelling 
expenses  were  to  be  in  any  case.  The  dowser,  feeling 
prejudice  at  work  against  him,  and  reckoning  his  em- 
ployer likely  to  prove  close-fisted  were  he  to  fail,  stipu- 
lated for  his  return  fare  to  be  first  paid  him ;  he  named  an 
amount.  Thereat,  the  claim  being  impudently  large,  the 
farmer  raised  protest. 

"  That's  what  it's  took  'e  to  swim  here !  "  quoth  he.  "  I 
don't  pay  for  the  liquor." 

"  Thee  do !  "  said  the  dowser ;  "  'twas  to  be  and  liquor." 
So,  he  pointed  out,  ran  the  terms  of  agreement  that  had 
brought  him. 

"  Right    ye    be !  "    quoth    the    big    farmer ;    "  on    the 


i68  A    MODERN     ANTAEUS 

job,  that  meant.  Y'aren't  on  it  yet,  ye  great  lousing 
swindle !  " 

So  accosted,  the  man  left  off  preparation  of  the  mystic 
twig  wherewith  the  search  was  to  be  conducted,  and  wag- 
gled unsteadily  to  his  feet  with  intentions  at  dignity.  He 
didn't  come  over  forty  miles  on  a  hot  day  to  oblige  a  client, 
he  gave  the  farmer  to  understand,  only  to  hear  himself 
called  names  at  the  other  end  and  be  grudged  the  price  of 
a  drink  on  the  way.  Did  he  think  a  water-finder  went  for 
it  with  his  tongue  out  like  a  dog  —  the  thirstier,  the  more 
likely  he  to  come  on  it  ? 

"Be  easy!"  quoth  the  farmer;  "ye  be  one  who 
wouldn't  know  water  if  he  saw  it !  " 

"  Ye  mean  I  doan't  know  me  business,  then  ?  "  said  the 
insulted  wizard. 

"  I  mean,  ye  don't  let  it  touch  your  in'ards,  nor  your 
out'ards  more  than  ye  can  help !  I  mean,  ye  be  come  here 
so  gone  in  liquor  as  you'd  strike  on  the  sock  tank  and  call 
it  a  well  —  and  be  for  having  me  pay  'e  for  the  lie !  You 
be  a  bucket  without  a  bottom,  you  be !  "  continued  the 
farmer ;  "  a  poor,  helpless,  hickory-dickory,  dry  pump  of 
a  thing,  for  all  the  water  we  shall  ever  get  out  of  'e.  Show 
me  ever  a  well  'at's  been  made  on  your  recommendation, 
and  I'll  go  and  drown  meself  in  it !  " 

Whether  or  no  the  dowser  had,  for  all  his  fuddled  con- 
dition, been  spying  the  land  and  reckoning  what  small 
chances  it  offered  of  credit  to  his  powers,  certain  it  is  he 
made  no  struggle  to  secure  the  larger  fee  which  a  success- 
ful operation  would  have  won  him ;  he  haggled  over  six- 
pences, demanding  to  be  sent  back  again  not  out  of  pocket 
by  his  excursion. 

The  farmer  rigorously  put  down  the  third-class  return 
fare  to  the  place  he  had  come  from,  with  a  shilling  over, 
and  forthwith  turned  his  back  on  him.  As  the  fellow  still 
sat  cursing  and  demanding  heavier  dues,  he  returned  pres- 


THE    WATER-FINDER  169 

ently  to  say,  that  if,  five  minutes  from  that  time,  he  found 
a  sham  dowser  on  his  premises,  he  would  have  him  ducked 
in  his  element. 

"  There's  just  enough  to  do  it  left  in  the  water-butt," 
quoth  the  farmer;  "  and  if  there  warn't  I'd  have  it  carted 
up  for  the  occasion." 

So  threatened,  and  feeling  himself  in  a  poor  minority, 
the  man  picked  up  the  ill-earned  parings  of  his  commis- 
sion, spat,  and  went  off  to  drink  his  way  back  to  the  place 
that  knew  him. 

After  he  had  gone,  rustics  stood  handling  the  twig  he 
had  left  behind  him.  "  This  is  the  way  'tis  done !  "  quoth 
one,  and  showed  them  how.  Many  tried  their  hands,  but 
manifested  no  grasp  of  the  magic  properties.  Farmer 
Duffin  looked  on  in  dejection,  regretting  a  wasted  morn- 
ing. The  field  all  about  the  farmstead  was  dotted  with 
borings  as  though  some  great  mole  had  been  there  at 
work. 

Tristram  roamed  the  premises,  casting  a  judicial  eye 
this  way  and  that  for  any  tokens  that  might  be  a  guide  for 
fresh  experiment.  He  returned  at  last,  and  pointing  to  a 
tree  that  stood  over  on  the  far  side  of  the  foredraft  which 
led  up  to  the  farm,  "  There  ought  to  be  water  there,"  said 
he.  "  Notice  how  the  roots  go,  and  the  boughs ;  they 
haven't  the  curve  of  those  others ;  there's  pull  at  work 
somewhere." 

The  farmer  shook  his  head  incredulously  as  a  man  who 
had  heard  a  tale  told  too  often.  "  It  ain't  a  bit  of  use, 
Muster  Tristram,"  said  he.  "  We've  tried  all  likely  places  ; 
I  reckon  there  be  no  water  left  on  the  land  since  the  old 
spring  be  run  dry." 

Tristram  took  up  the  divining  rod.  He  had  read  how 
the  thing  was  done,  and  the  little  knowledge  gave  him 
quite  a  professional  air.  Taking  off  his  boots,  which  were 
thick  and  had  nails  in  them,  he  started  on  a  methodical 


i;o  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

course  up  and  down  the  well-explored  field.  The  rod  held 
out  by  its  two  prongs  before  him  stayed  quite  unrespon- 
sive, but  already  the  mummery  of  the  thing  pleased  him ; 
it  fitted  in  with  things  he  had  done  when  a  child  to  avert 
the  evil  chance ;  and  as  he  followed  the  ritual,  an  underly- 
ing belief  in  its  truth  began  to  take  hold  of  him.  He  bent 
his  head  intent  on  the  character  of  the  ground  under  his 
feet,  and  watching  the  rod  for  an  indication  he  was  half 
ready  to  expect.  He  forgot  where  he  was.  Presently  he 
felt  shadow :  his  foot  struck  on  to  tree-root  under  grass. 
He  halted  and  threw  back  his  head  quickly  to  see  boughs, 
and  just  before  him  the  bole  of  the  tree  to  which  he  had 
first  pointed.  As  he  did  so,  up  swung  the  twig.  On  the 
hazard  lie  accepted  the  omen,  and  cried  "  Water!  " 

Mr.  Beresford  Gavney,  taking  his  wife  for  an  evening 
drive  in  the  lanes  threading  the  outskirts  of  Randogger, 
came  suddenly  on  a  shocking  sight.  A  party  of  labourers, 
emerging  from  a  field-path  on  to  the  public  way,  revealed 
to  him  on  nearer  view  one  of  themselves  as  his  own  son, 
Tristram. 

The  lad  was  miry,  daubed  over  with  red  clay  from  head 
to  foot,  and  in  extraordinary  spirits.  The  sight  of  his  par- 
ents puzzling  their  eyes  to  recognise  him  did  not  abash 
him  in  the  very  least.  He  ran  forward  and  mounted  the 
low  foot-board  of  the  carriage,  crying :  — 

'Mother,  mother,  only  think!  I've  found  water.  I 
have!  Up  at  Beacon  Farm.  Old  Duffin  says  it's  worth  a 
hundred  pounds  to  him.  And  it  runs  like  the  Nile ;  looks 
as  if  it  were  going  to  be  the  biggest  river  in  England!  " 

'  Really,  my  dear  Tristram,  you  alarm  me!  "  said  Mrs. 
Gavney.  hearing  of  so  large  a  thing  as  so  near  a  neigh- 
bour.   "  Is  it  safe  for  you  to  do  such  things?  " 

His  father  in  cold  tones  bade  him  get  off  the  carriage. 
"  If  you  must  get  yourself  into  that  state,  keep  your  dis- 
tance.    You  are  too  dirty  to  be  seen.     A  pity  you  can 


THE    WATER-FINDER  171 

never  be  given  liberty  without  forgetting  that  you  are  a 
gentleman." 

Tristram  in  haste  to  make  them  realise  the  situation, 
passed  over  the  reproof.  '  Yes,  but  I  found  water,"  said 
he.  "  Duffin  wanted  to  give  me  a  horse ;  but  I  thought 
you  wouldn't  like  it,  so  I  said  no." 

There  was  a  note  of  interrogation  in  his  voice,  as  he 
gave  the  information,  but  it  drew  no  concession:  he  had 
been  quite  right,  of  course,  to  say  no  to  any  such  sugges- 
tion. The  carriage  moved  on,  leaving  him  alone  in  his 
glory ;  but  that  was  sufficient  to  keep  him  satisfied  in  the 
face  of  any  slight  rebuffs.  To  appreciate  the  honourable 
mire  his  clothes  bore  on  them,  it  was  necessary  to  have 
seen  the  rush  of  water  that  had  followed  the  first  boring. 
He  had  done  so;  and  had  heard  stout  yokels  applauding 
with  honest  delight.  The  taste  of  the  Beacon  Farm  cider 
was  still  sweet  on  his  palate ;  but,  somehow,  sweeter  still 
was  the  red  stained  water  which,  with  a  stroke  like  that  of 
Moses,  he  had  fetched  forth  out  of  the  dry  earth.  Hence- 
forth it  seemed  to  him  that  his  name  must  belong  to 
Beacon  Hill,  and  he  be  a  part  of  it  along  with  that  welling 
spring,  that  veritable  river,  which  he  had  conjured  forth 
to  the  service  of  man  and  beast. 

Farmer  Duffin  had  proved  the  value  of  his  service  by 
the  offer  willingly  made,  even  pressed,  and  by  him  re- 
luctantly declined.  Tristram  had  the  generosity  which 
hates  to  refuse  a  gift  that  is  cordially  intended;  but  he 
hardly  remembered  his  regret  in  the  almost  passionate 
pleasure  of  the  day's  fortune.  His  sleep  that  night  was 
fevered  by  dreams  of  it,  and  contrary  to  habit  he  awoke  to 
find  nisrht  scarcely  half  over. 

It  was  one  or  two  in  the  morning.  Not  merely  awak- 
ened, but  wakeful,  he  wanted  to  stir  and  be  doing.  For 
a  while  he  tossed,  feeling  the  unreasonableness  of  the  im- 
pulse, but  at  last  rose,  and  pushing  his  head  under  the 
blind,  looked  out  on  to  the  night. 


i;2  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

All  was  still  and  wonderful;  not  asleep,  but  under  a 
mask ;  conscious,  mute  but  alert.  Over  every  familiar 
form  a  hand  without  fingers,  a  mitten  of  darkness,  seemed 
to  have  closed.  Shapes  that  showed  out  hard  in  the  day 
made  mysterious  blottings,  rising  out  of  a  deep  pool  of 
impenetrable  shade.  He  saw  the  stables,  the  out-houses, 
the  fowl-paddock,  herded  and  gregarious  under  that  dim 
air ;  a  net  of  mystery  and  restraint  spread  over  them ; 
while  the  trees  stood  aware  of  night,  these  others  lay 
dormant.  The  boy's  heart  beat.  Instinctively  his  lungs 
drew  in  a  deep  breath ;  it  seemed,  then,  that  his  body 
became  infected  with  the  spirit  of  night. 

The  wind  said  so  little,  he  could  hear  each  separate 
thing  that  moved  under  space:  the  house-dog  turning  in 
its  kennel,  the  rub  of  the  carriage-horse  against  its  stall, 
the  shuffle  in  the  fowl-house  of  a  hen  upon  its  roost,  the 
asthmatic  breathing  of  a  sheep  in  the  field  on  the  opposite 
slope,  the  cry  echoed  from  the  woods  where  some  night- 
bird  had  seized  on  its  prey,  the  awakening  of  water-fowl 
at  the  ponds.  But  of  inanimate  things  only  the  garden 
stirred  audibly  ;  not  a  field  through  all  its  trees  and  hedges 
seemed  to  send  forth  a  breath. 

From  far  away,  suddenly,  struck  one  point  of  sound, 
and  all  the  world  grew  wide.  The  boy's  spirit  seemed  to 
reach  out  across  space,  crying,  "  I,  too,  am  awake !  " 

Yonder  on  the  turnpike  road,  toward  Randogger's  dark- 
roofed  solitudes,  under  three  miles  of  night  emptied  of 
human-kind,  he  heard  the  going  of  a  horse.  All  earth, 
muffled  and  mute  environed  him;  but  there,  there  (how 
much  of  romance  did  not  the  fever  of  the  road  mingle 
with  the  thought  of  it  in  his  blood!),  there,  like  an  anvil, 
was  the  ring  of  the  iron  way,  and  there  alone,  amid  the 
thousand  populous  silences  of  night,  adventured  feet 
bound  to  some  unknown  goal. 

The  sound  struck  down  and  died  in  a  fold  of  the  hill ; 


THE    WATER-FINDER  173 

after,  came  faintly  the  click  of  heels  cresting  a  more  dis- 
tant rise.  Once  over  the  brow,  it  passed  not  to  return. 
Night  shook  off  its  traveller  and  resumed  the  vague  bur- 
den of  its  huge  quietude.  Yet  not  for  long  without  indi- 
cation of  an  approaching  change ;  from  the  hen-house 
came  the  discord  of  the  first  cock-crow.  Sound  of  it  went 
to  the  gardener's  poultry  at  the  lodge ;  thence  was  carried 
to  the  Hill  Alwyn  farms,  and  stirred  the  hen-roosts  of 
the  village ;  till  fainter  and  fainter  borne,  cock-crow  out- 
reaching  cock-crow,  it  touched  the  borders  of  Randogger, 
a  landmark  which  returned  no  sound.  Whence  came  it 
when  silence  once  more  settled,  that,  without  lifting  a 
shade,  darkness  recognised  that  another  of  its  hours  was 
flown  ?  Only  as  an  after-thought  then  did  the  clocks  of 
Bembridge  toll  two. 

To  the  listener  at  night,  sound  is  ever  more  suggestive 
than  by  day.  Replacing  in  a  measure  intimations  we  are 
accustomed  to  receive  through  the  eye  alone,  it  finds  us  in 
a  more  apprehensive  mood,  and  stimulates  the  mind  to 
discover  all  the  meanings  that  it  has  to  convey.  The  ru- 
mours that  rise  from  the  dark  hush  of  night-bound  earth 
map  out  audibly  to  the  brain  the  whereabouts  and  traces 
of  sleeping  humanity  through  tracts  invisible  under  shade. 
And  at  once,  by  some  affinity  left  over  from  a  wilder  state, 
we  seem  to  have  joined  the  fox  stealthily  on  its  rounds 
through  the  hen-roosts  of  the  district,  and  to  hear,  at  how 
great  a  distance,  the  nearest  watch-dog  beginning  to  give 
the  alarm.  So  little  commotion  of  the  blood  is  needed  for 
all  the  rover  within  us  to  be  awake. 

The  heart  still  stands  for  the  unknown  part  of  man ; 
it  invents  for  itself  worlds  out  of  quite  prosaic  elements, 
and  knows  not  why.  Wills  it  so ;  nay,  rather,  is  seized  by 
the  inspiration,  as  the  priestess  when  she  feeds  on  the 
gaseous  fumes  of  the  oracle ;  and  the  result  is  straightway 
beyond  its  power  of  control.     Some  name  it  the  divine 


174  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

voice.  Youth,  at  least,  unconscious  of  the  source,  recog- 
nises when  it  has  heard  the  inevitable  call. 

From  that  moment  a  new  vagabondage  took  hold  of 
the  Tramp's  heart.  It  was  to  him  like  the  discovery  of  a 
new  dimension.  He  saw  night  then  as  for  the  first  time: 
sleepless  night  lifting  a  conscious  eye.  To  him,  sleepless, 
she  beckoned:  the  hour  of  initiation' was  here  and  now, 
his  window  the  door  out  into  her  world.  Quickly  he 
dressed,  slid  down  by  the  water  pipe  to  the  lean-to  below, 
and  was  out  to  the  fields.  His  feet  were  tasting  the  deep 
and  wonderful  dampness  of  the  crops ;  his  heart  was 
drawing  him  on  to  follow  the  sound  that  had  beckoned 
from  the  woody  ridge  below  Beacon  Farm.  So,  before 
long  he  came  where  thick  coppice  circled  the  upland  he 
sought,  high  on  whose  crest  heart  and  foot  now  longed 
to  be. 

In  the  shivering  and  uprising  twilight  he  mounted  the 
hill-side,  the  goal  of  his  fantastic  quest ;  turned  to  look 
back,  and  saw  the  woods  black  below  him  still ;  stooped 
and  drank,  and  heard  in  the  tree  overhead,  sharp  as  a 
blade,  the  cry  of  the  first  awakened  bird ;  looked  up,  and 
saw  at  the  farm  the  yellow  gleam  of  blinds  behind  which 
labour  arose  to  its  work. 

On  the  way  home  he  passed  Haycraft's  solitary  abode. 
Father  and  daughter  were  already  up ;  and  the  bread  he 
shared  with  them  seemed  the  sweetest  he  had  ever  tasted. 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE    FIFTH    OF    NOVEMBER 

[T  was  said  of  an  ill-constitutioned  monarch  that  noth- 
ing  in  his  life  became  him  so  well  as  his  manner  of 
quitting  it.  Certainly  by  that  retirement  he  accomplished 
more  to  his  purpose  than  by  all  the  egregious  acts  of  his 
reign.  Picturesquely  he  stands  out  in  history,  not  alto- 
gether a  failure ;  going  down  to  his  house  justified,  if  to 
live  long  in  men's  minds  be  a  thing  worthy  to  die  for. 

Of  Tristram  Gavney's  school-life  also  some  would  hold 
that  nothing  in  it  became  him  better  than  the  last  wild  act 
which  brought  down  the  curtain.  That  would  have  been 
the  verdict  of  his  school-fellows.  So  high  a  picture  did 
he  leave  of  himself  in  that  final  flourish,  that  even  adverse 
critics  were  fain  to  admit  he  had  carried  the  folly  through 
in  a  gallant  style.  Thereafter  his  name  stood  in  tradition 
along  with  one  mad  episode  little  relished  of  the  authori- 
ties, but  lifting  him  high  in  the  eyes  of  his  contemporaries. 

At  the  end  of  the  autumn  vacation,  when  the  school 
met,  rumour  went  round  that  an  old  commemorative  tra- 
dition of  Friars-gate  was  about  to  perish,  and  that  the 
half-holidays  of  the  mid-term  were  to  lose  that  peculiar 
jollity  which  had  marked  their  recurring  place  in  the 
school-calendar.  There  was  to  be  no  November  bonfire. 
Big  schools  were  letting  the  celebration  go ;  little  schools 
were  in  a  hurry  to  follow. 

i 75 


176  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

Next  to  paper-chasing  nothing  was  so  accordant  with 
Tristram's  mind  as  those  log-rolling  jaunts  to  Randogger 
and  the  outlying  farmsteads,  which  had  been  the  game 
twice  a  week  for  a  whole  month  preceding  the  day  of  con- 
flagration. In  these  expeditions  the  Tramp  had  figured 
well ;  he  knew  the  locality  and  was  known  and  liked  at 
the  farms.  Also  he  loved  the  hard  manual  labour  of  haul- 
ing and  hoisting  the  odd  scraps  of  timber  which  were 
given  them.  Often  the  formula  was,  when  some  big 
decayed  log  was  in  request  —  for  the  boys  were  arrant 
beggars  —  "Aye,  you  may  take  it  if  you  can  carry  it." 
And  Tristram,  returning  once  with  a  picked  body  and  a 
strong  small-wheeled  trolley,  had  succeeded  in  carrying 
off  a  mighty  weight  abandoned  a  few  days  before,  which 
had  been  offered  to  a  party  of  them  on  such  terms.  The 
farmer  who  had  been  chaffing  them,  meaning  no  such  gift, 
beheld  a  pound's  worth  of  good  timber  gone  on  the 
strength  of  his  rash  word.  He  wagged  his  head  and  bore 
his  loss  sportsmanlike,  only  saying,  "  You'll  find  me 
stingier  come  twelvemonth."  Tristram  had  promised  to 
test  him. 

Now,  it  seemed,  these  honest  marauding  expeditions 
were  to  be  over,  and  even  the  great  blowing  woodland  of 
Randogger  to  which  a  day's  permit  had  always  been 
available  was  to  remain  unriflcd  of  its  dead  wood ;  and 
the  pity  was  that  high  gales  were  abroad  promising  a 
rich  harvest. 

All  Friars-gate  growled,  and  wondered  how  most  ef- 
fectively to  show  its  sulks.  Some  suggested  that  deprived 
of  their  trolleyings  they  should  be  resokitely  slack  and  do 
nothing,  neither  at  football  nor  in  the  chase. 

"  Rot !  "  said  Tristram,  and  preserved  a  cheerful  coun- 
tenance, perceiving  with  his  histrionic  faculty  awake,  that 
there  might  be  glory  ahead  for  the  down-trodden  Door- 
mats.   He  held  conference  with  a  few  leading  spirits,  and 


THE    FIFTH    OF    NOVEMBER         177 

at  the  end  of  it  briefly  announced  that  the  Attics  might  do 
as  they  pleased,  but  so  far  as  the  Dormers  were  concerned, 
the  bonfire  was  still  to  be. 

It  so  happened  that  quite  early  in  the  term,  the  Door- 
mats were  made  to  feel  their  outside  standing  in  a  matter 
which  touched  their  honour  more  than  their  inclinations ; 
and  thereafter  the  prospect  of  their  coming  vantage  was 
the  more  sweet  to  them.  An  upper  school-boarder  de- 
tected in  viPainous  bullying  was  to  receive  public  chastise- 
ment, and  for  the  preliminary  call-over  the  whole  school 
trooped  in  obedient  to  bell-summons.  At  the  end  of  the 
recitation,  the  Door-mats  were  informed  that  they  might 
retire  beyond  the  threshold,  Dr.  Coney  holding  this  to 
be  a  boarding-house  matter  of  no  concern  to  the  town 
element. 

The  slight  was  felt,  and  the  unfairness,  for  the  big 
culprit  had  bullied  not  boarders  only.  Shipton  minor 
bore  bruises,  and  had  a  vindictive  wish  to  see  himself 
avenged.  Climbing  up  by  two  tiers  of  backs,  he  got  an 
eye  to  a  lower  window-pane  and  made  report  of  what 
went  on  within.  Down  below,  an  open-air  indignation 
meeting  mouthed  for  a  while ;  but  on  the  signal  of  com- 
mencement, windy  talk  about  not  going  into  the  next 
call-over  died  down.  When  the  swishing  started,  the 
outsiders  found  that  their  position  was  not  without  its 
attraction.  Shipton  up  aloft,  reported  merrily  his  bird's- 
eye  view  of  the  proceedings. 

"  Treacles  has  him !  "  word  came  down.  "  All  right ; 
wait  now!  One,  two,  three;  can  you  fellows  hear  it? 
Oil  yes,  I'm  counting.  Seven,  eight,  nine.  What  ?  — 
only  nine;  and  I've  had  twenty  from  the  brute  myself! 
Oh !  the  Beak's  jawing  a  moral  in  between  ;  it's  to  be 
sandwiched.  Stop !  —  four  more.  That's  something  like ! 
Treacles  lets  him  down ;  he  don't  seem  to  know  which 
leg  to  stand  on.     He  won't  sleep  on  his  back  to-night,  I 


178  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

bet,  —  the  beast !  Hullo !  the  Beak's  looking ;  he'll  not 
recognise  such  a  bit  of  me  though.    Let  me  down !  " 

Little  Shipton  slithered  to  ground  with  a  countenance 
of  beatific  contentment. 

Yes,  exclusion  had  its  charms ;  but  for  all  that  the 
injustice  was  remembered.  It  was  the  old  question  of 
prestige;  though  the  word  lay  outside  a  school-boy's 
vocabulary,  its  essence  was  understood.  Tristram  deter- 
mined that  before  the  term  was  old  the  Door-mats'  horn 
should  be  exalted  with  honour,  and  their  light  set  shining 
before  men  in  a  fashion  not  to  be  blinked  at.  Before  a 
week  was  over  he  had  thirty  of  them  itching  to  follow  his 
lead. 

Thus  it  came  about  that  for  a  whole  month  no  Door- 
mats were  to  be  got  to  the  half-holiday  "  pick-ups." 
Even  the  first  paper-chase  of  term  failed  to  attract  them. 
There  was  no  secret  about  what  they  were  up  to.  Coming 
that  day  upon  the  trail  of  the  hares  in  the  outskirts  of 
Bembridge  they  waited  the  arrival  of  the  hounds,  and 
raised  cheers  of  rivalry.  "  Go  it,  Bed-brats!  "  they  cried, 
and  charged  into  their  midst  with  a  trolley  loaded  glori- 
ously with  fuel  for  the  Fifth. 

They  tossed  off  their  caps  defiantly  to  any  master  they 
passed.  Doctor  Coney  himself  one  day  met  the  procession 
rattling  down  High  Street.  "  I  say,  you  beggars,"  cried 
Tristram,  after  they  had  all  solemnly  saluted,  "  mind  you 
know  your  swot !  The  Beak  has  got  liver  in  his  eye,  and 
he'll  be  on  you  to-morrow." 

They  rose  to  his  leading.  Their  effrontery  clothed  itself 
in  virtue,  and  rendered  them  immune  from  detention. 
Outrageous  industry  and  propriety  of  deportment  made 
them  an  offence  to  their  school-fellows.  Door-mats  came 
out  top  of  each  class  week  by  week  through  sheer  excess 
of  naughtiness  directed  into  new  channels  The  thing 
could  not  have  lasted ;  one  or  two  of  them  showed  signs 
of  overtraining  before  the  day  came. 


THE    FIFTH    OF    NOVEMBER         179 

Doctor  Coney,  wishing  to  know  the  chosen  whereabouts 
for  their  proposed  flare  up  of  independence,  made  secret 
enquiry  through  one  of  his  under-officials,  known  to  the 
school  as  the  grass-widower.  The  plotters  were  playing 
a  deep  game :  nothing  could  be  learned  except  that  they 
had  secured  storage  in  an  old  cart-shed  near  the  school. 
No  bonfire  was  building.  Aware,  now,  that  protest  was 
their  intention,  the  Doctor  suspected  that  they  had  some 
wild  notion  of  introducing  fuel  into  the  school-field  on 
the  night  itself,  and  there  kindling  the  blaze.  Against  that 
it  might  be  necessary,  when  the  day  came,  to  set  Treacles 
and  the  grass-widower  on  extra  duty  as  bound-beaters. 
For  the  rest,  forewarned  being  forearmed,  he  thought 
that  he  might  sleep  secure.'  Nevertheless  he  deemed  it 
fair,  at  the  last  moment,  to  give  a  word  of  warning  to  the 
evident  ringleader. 

"  You  will  understand,  Gavney,"  he  said,  "  that  new 
rules  are  made  to  be  kept.  My  authority  here  is  not  to 
be  defied.  How  you  may  choose  to  waste  your  leisure 
outside  is  another  matter.    You  understand?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Tristram,  "  I  quite  understand  that." 
He  waited  with  deference  for  anything  more  to  be  said, 
and  received  his  short  dismissal  with  a  demure  aspect. 

November's  Fifth  fell  on  a  Saturday.  In  the  afternoon 
the  day-boys  came  on  to  the  foot-ball  field  with  looks  of 
overbearing  importance ;  they  showed  pockets  which 
bulged  with  chrysalis  explosives. 

"Where  is  it  going  to  be?"  asked  boarders,  hungry 
with  curiosity,  and  received  winks  to  stimulate  intelli- 
gence. Yet  when  seven  o'clock  sounded  for  lock-up, 
sending  the  lower  school  into  hall,  and  the  upper  into 
studies,  there  was  no  sign  of  the  promised  bonfire.  The 
grass-widower,  parading  the  lower  field  with  a  yoke  of 
buckets,  began  to  feel  foolish.  Treacles  was  for  report- 
ing the  evident  break-down  of  the  conspiracy. 


180  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

Quite  suddenly,  to  the  other  side  of  the  school  build- 
ings, on  the  higher  ground  of  Hartop's  grazing  land,  a 
light  broke,  and  revealed  the  audacious  whereabouts  of 
the  whole  business.  The  field  in  question  jutted  like  a 
squared  elbow  into  a  rear  angle  of  the  Friars-gate  acres; 
half  the  windows  of  the  school  looked  out  on  it.  Treacles 
said,  "  They've  got  Hartop's  and  there's  naught  to  be 
done.  Come  you  on  !  "  and  went  to  report  to  Doctor 
Coney  the  evasion  of  his  jurisdiction. 

Disconsolate  boarders,  sitting  mewed  up  in  their 
studies,  saw,  too,  the  triumph  of  the  despised  Door-mats. 
Gaping  flames  leered  at  them  across  their  boundaries,  and 
wagged  derision  of  their  tame  surrender  to  outrageous 
authority.  Presently,  it  was  not  only  the  fire  getting  to 
work  at  its  big  meal  which  raised  rebel  feelings,  there 
was  also  a  merry  pyrotechnic  display  going  on ;  shooting 
rockets  dropped  their  sticks  over  the  playground  wall ; 
dark  figures  ran  and  gesticulated  against  the  glare,  familiar 
to  the  envious  eyes  that  watched.  The  revellers  made 
much  more  noise  than  their  numbers  warranted,  bent  as 
they  were  on  throwing  word  to  attendant  ears  of  the  full 
jollity  that  possessed  them.  It  became  more  at  last  than 
some  flesh  and  blood  could  stand. 

Before  long,  ground-floor  study-windows  lay  ajar; 
heads  popped  up  over  the  top  of  the  playground  wall 
for  a  nearer  view.  Their  owners  received  a  cordial  invi- 
tation to  come  over;  and  offers  of  fair  barter  in  the  matter 
of  squibs  and  crackers  completed  the  seduction.  Over  a 
dozen  bold  spirits  leapt  out  of  bounds  to  join  in  the 
revelry,  trusting  to  darkness,  a  posting  of  sentries,  luck 
and  fleetness  of  foot,  for  the  avoidance  of  detection  and 
capture.  The  playground  was  broad  and  had  a  high 
wall ;  the  two  offering  to  calculating  eyes  a  sufficient 
interposition  in  the  way  of  approaching  danger. 

The  new-comers   were   in   time  to  see  the  crowning 


THE    FIFTH    OF    NOVEMBER         181 

glory  of  the  show  ;  a  trussed  figure  treveted  on  three  poles, 
was  borne  forward,  and  set  to  swing  across  the  flames. 
The  fiery  element,  like  an  hungry  fledgling  on  its  nest, 
threw  up  its  beak  peckishly  to  snatch  at  the  impending 
worm.  '  Treacles  "  figured  in  black  on  a  white  label, 
stuck  into  the  effigy's  head-gear ;  a  choleric  red-face 
dripped  wax  to  the  flames  below.  When  the  straw  in 
the  stuffed  legs  caught  fire,  it  was  time  for  the  spectators 
to  back  to  a  respectful  distance;  up  higher  lay  the  keg 
of  villainous  saltpetre  containing  dissolution  for  the  poor 
object  of  their  ridicule. 

The  boom  of  the  explosion  when  it  broke,  adding  to 
the  report  carried  in  to  him  by  his  myrmidons,  brought 
up  Doctor  Coney  to  take  a  far  view  of  the  scene.  Going 
for  a  more  commanding  view  from  an  upper  window, 
he  looked,  in  passing,  into  one  of  the  studies,  and  found 
it  empty.  A  few  minutes  later  the  school-bell  rang,  and 
gave  a  momentary  hitch  to  the  consciences  of  a  few 
bound-breakers. 

"  What  ?  Then  it  must  be  half-past  eight  already !  " 
exclaimed  one,  "  and  we've  got  to  get  back  before  nine !  " 
Time  of  course  passed  quickly  ;  the  explanation  gave  them 
the  hour  without  the  trouble  of  consulting  their  watches, 
and  freed  them  from  qualm  about  what  for  the  moment 
had  seemed  to  be  an  unfamiliar  bell.  So  the  sport  danced 
on,  nimble-legged,  beyond  the  high-wall  boundary.  There 
was  no  denying  that  the  Door-mats  had  scored  their 
point ;  it  seemed  better  to  make  the  admission  frankly, 
and  go  in  for  a  share  in  the  feast. 

Round  and  round  flew  the  fire-worshippers  in  a  glitter 
of  powdered  flame.  Catherine  wheels  span ;  Roman 
candles  spat  gobbets  of  light ;  underfoot  crackers  leapt 
like  fiery  grasshoppers  across  the  ground ;  overhead  lordly 
rockets  ran  up  like  corn-stems  of  fire,  and  shed  coloured 
grain  to  the  stars.    All  round,  the  field  ran  away  velvety 


i82  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

in  shadow  to  the  final  swallowing-up  and  darkness  of 
night. 

Riot  was  still  high  when  the  small  figure  of  Tabbin 
minor  sprung  in  on  the  company. 

"Oh,  I  say,  won't  you  fellows  just  catch  it!"  he 
cried,  addressing  the  bound-breakers.  "  There's  been  a 
call-over;  word  came  round  to  the  studies;  and  fifteen 
names  have  gone  up  as  absent.  Treacles  has  been  all 
round  and  locked  the  outers,  and  the  penny-slide's  been 
fastened.  I  came  over  by  the  pigeon-houses.  I'm  off 
back  again  ;  it's  no  use  your  hurrying,  you're  all  caught. 
Oh !  Chubby,  the  fat'll  be  in  the  fire  to-morrow !  "  He 
smacked  his  hand  cheerily  over  the  pillowy  form  of  a 
large  fellow  from  the  lower-fourth,  and  scuttled  out  of 
sight. 

The  out-bounders  formed  a  depressed  group.  "  What 
shall  you  say  ?  "  one  queried. 

;<  Say  ?  Oh,  say  that  I  was  nowhere,  and  didn't  hear  the 
word.  How  was  I  to  know  it  was  a  call-over,  thought  it 
was  the  kid's  bed-bell." 

"  That  won't  do !  Treacles  went  everywhere,  you  bet. 
Your  tale  won't  wash !  " 

"  Then  it  must  pig  it ;  that's  all !  " 

They  let  off  their  last  remaining  squibs  in  each  other's 
faces,  and  seemed  valiant  to  meet  their  fate.  But  the 
heart  was  gone  from  the  game.  The  Door-mats  were 
giving  themselves  superior  airs  of  freedom ;  they  had 
stuck  their  light  under  no  bushel  but  on  a  candlestick ; 
if  moths  came  singeing  their  wings  that  was  their  own 
look-out. 

The  out-bounders  began  to  slink  away ;  conscious  that 
they  stood  detected  though  no  eye  of  authority  had 
lighted  on  them,  they  felt  now  that  to  stay  longer  might 
involve  them  in  deeper  damnation.  The  event  proved 
them  wise. 


THE    FIFTH    OF    NOVEMBER         183 

"  Cave !  Cave !  "  was  sung  up  from  the  corner  of  the 
field.  "  Now  then,  you  Bed-brats,  look  alive !  Here's 
the  Beak  coming." 

The  word  was  hardly  out  when  darkness  swept  them 
up  from  the  glare  of  the  flames.  The  Door-mats  rubbed 
in  their  triumph ;  shouting  with  unenslaved  lungs,  their 
song  could  be  heard  even  up  at  the  dormitories,  to  which 
the  small  boys  of  the  lower  forms  had  now  mounted. 

"  We  won't  go  home  till  morning !  "  rang  out  defiantly 
above  the  crackling  of  the  flames. 

Tristram  led.  Authority  was  over-stepping  its  limits 
and  coming  to  overawe  them ;  their  point  was  to  make  a 
full  parade  of  a  good  conscience. 

"  Gavney !  "  said  the  voice  they  were  all  expecting. 

Tristram  came  respectfully  to  attention,  with  cap  off. 

"  Here,  sir!  "  said  he. 

"  Oblige  me  by  putting  an  end  to  this  orgie.  Every 
one  of  you  go  to  your  homes." 

Tristram  stood  his  ground.  "  But  we've  hired  the  field, 
sir!" 

"  You  will  do  as  I  say,  sir !  "  said  the  Beak,  with 
asperity. 

"  But,  sir,  we've  all  done  our  preparation.  We've  a 
right  to  do  as  we  like  now." 

"  There,  Gavney,  we  differ.  Enough  that  I  now  tell 
you  to  go." 

"No,  sir,"  retorted  Tristram;  "  I'm  a  Door-mat,  and  I 
shall  stay  where  I  am!  " 

The  Doctor  swung  himself  sharply  round,  and  made 
summons  of  authority.  Treacles  and  the  grass-widower 
ranged  into  sight.  Their  orders  were  to  dowse  and  scatter 
the  bonfire. 

"If  they  try  it  on,  sir,  we  shall  squib  them!"  said 
Tristram.  The  men  faced  a  furious  singeing;  their 
buckets   were   dexterously  tripped   for  them,   still   they 


1 84  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

came  on  and  began  to  beat  open  the  fire-stack.  The 
heat  of  that,  glowing  to  a  white  incandescence  within, 
drove  them  back  for  a  moment  to  fetch  breath.  They 
found  themselves  bonneted  with  the  empty  pails,  about 
the  exterior  of  which  sticks  rattled. 

"  Torches !  "  cried  Tristram.  He  seized  up  a  burning 
faggot  and  swung  it.     "  Come  on,  you  fellows !  " 

Two  or  three  others  joined ;  mad  blood  was  up ;  they 
advanced  in  a  smother  of  fire  and  smoke,  whirling  their 
weapons  wide.  Tristram's  shin  was  caught  by  a  descend- 
ing bucket,  he  hacked  it  ahead  of  him;  that  and  its 
fellow  went  spinning  down  the  field,  a  troop  after  them 
crying  ;'  Hurrah ! "  The  torch-bearers  stuck  to  their 
bigger  game.  The  Doctor  had  to  stand  by  with  what 
dignity  he  could  muster,  and  see  his  myrmidons  harried 
to  the  boundaries. 

Tristram  chose  to  be  insolent  in  Latin.  '  Trcspassores 
erunt  prosecuti!  "  he  cried.  The  language  chosen,  and 
the  doggish  use  of  it,  gave  it  point  to  the  ears  for  which 
it  was  intended.  As  soon  as,  with  the  rest,  he  had 
chevied  the  pair  beyond  bounds,  he  came  back  at  a  run 
to  where  the  Beak  was  still  standing. 

"  I'm  sorry,  sir,  that  you  set  them  on  to  us,"  was  his 
first  delivery.      '  I  think  you  had  no  right  to." 

"  What  my  rights  are,  I  shall  prove  to  you  very  shortly, 
sir!"  said  the  enraged  Doctor. 

Tristram  said,  "  We'd  do  anything  in  reason  to  oblige 
you;  but  the  bonfire  has  taken  us  a  lot  of  trouble,  and 
our  people  know  of  it." 

"If  they  do  not,  Gavney,  they  certainly  will!"  said 
Doctor  Coney. 

Tristram  threw  up  his  head.  "  Have  you  any  com- 
plaint to  make,  sir?"  he  enquired  with  an  amazing 
assumption  of  innocence. 

"  Something  more  than  a  complaint,  you  will  find, 
Gavney !  " 


THE    FIFTH    OF    NOVEMBER         185 

"  The  complaint  here,  sir,  is  ours,  I  think,"  retorted  the 
lad. 

"  I  don't  discuss  it  with  you,"  said  the  Doctor.  '  We 
return  to  the  subject  on  Monday."  He  turned  his  back 
on  them  and  walked  away. 

Tristram,  to  show  that  he  stood  where  he  did  before, 
sent  a  resolute  word  after  the  retreating  figure. 

"  Good-night,  sir !  " 

It  echoed  down  the  field  unanswered. 

The  boys  drew  round  Tristram  with  hushed  applause; 
they  admired  his  momentary  snatch  of  victory,  but  could 
not  blink  what  must  needs  come  after.  In  tones  of 
awe  and  curiosity  they  asked  him  what  he  was  going  to 
do  now. 

"  Do !  "  said  Tristram.    "  Are  there  any  more  rockets  ?  " 

In  another  minute  a  salvo  went  up.  It  was  near  mid- 
night when  the  Tramp  reached  home. 

The  next  day  brought  Jim  Bowling,  son  of  a  Bern- 
bridge  doctor,  on  a  special  errand  to  Tristram.  What 
was  he  going  to  do?  he  was  asked  once  more.  He  had 
no  intention  of  doing  anything,  and  enquired  why  it  was 
expected  of  him.     He  was  told  not  to  be  an  ass. 

"  Look  here !  "  said  Bowling.  "  My  father's  all  on  our 
side"  (He  wouldn't  be  if  he  were  the  school-medical, 
thought  Tristram),  "and  he  says  Coney's  an  interfering 
old  ass,  and  deserves  all  the  setting  down  he  can  get. 
Well ;  so  he  has  started  a  roundrobin,  and  the  rest  have 
taken  it  up ;  and  every  one  of  us  is  going  to  turn  up 
to-morrow  morning  with  a  letter  from  our  people  to  say 
that  what  we  did  was  with  their  knowledge  and  consent. 
That'll  be  all  right,  won't  it?  " 

"  Oh  yes,  that'll  be  all  right  for  you,"  said  Tristram. 

"  Well,  don't  go  leaving  yourself  in  the  lurch  and  stand- 
ing out  a  martyr !  "  Bowling  discerned  that  possible 
weakness  in  Tristram. 


1 86  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

"  With  me  it's  different,"  the  other  replied. 

"How  different?" 

"  Well,  I'd  give  something  to  be  able  to  leave  school." 

"  It  mayn't  be  a  matter  of  leaving." 

"If  he  touches  me,  I  leave.  You  may  be  jolly  certain 
of  that ! " 

"  Well,"  said  Bowling,  "  I  think  he  will  touch  you." 

Tristram  answered,  "  Then,  there's  an  end  of  it." 

And  for  any  practical  outcome  of  their  present  con- 
ference it  was.  Bowling  reported  on  his  return  to  Bern- 
bridge,  that  Gavney  had  a  mind  for  facing  the  switch 
without  any  parental  protection ;  but  he  hinted  that  there 
might  yet  be  a  scene,  and  a  problem  in  physics  to  be 
solved  when  the  time  came. 

"  If  he  kicks,"  said  one,  "  shan't  we  back  him?  " 

Bowling  shrugged.  "He  don't  consult  us,"  said  he; 
"  why  should  we?  If  he  chooses  his  own  way,  he  must 
go  it  alone." 

Nevertheless  there  was  expectation  that  Gavney  would 
not  tamely  submit  himself,  nor  become  a  public  spectacle 
except  by  compulsion.    They  were  mistaken. 

Tristram  had  an  early  interview  with  Doctor  Coney, 
and  an  opportunity  to  speak  his  mind.  He  found  that 
gentleman  at  his  desk  behind  a  pile  of  letters.  "If  you 
bring  me  a  letter  it  will  be  of  no  avail  for  you?"  were 
the  Doctor's  first  words.  Tristram  assured  him  he  had 
none.  He  beheld  his  fate  in  a  determined  eye.  Nothing 
that  he  said  at  the  interview  diminished  his  offence. 

When  at  the  end  of  morning  school  the  bell  rang  all  in 
to  call-over,  Tristram  appeared  with  a  calm  face.  Names 
were  read  over ;  and  at  the  finish  day-boys  had  not  to  be 
excluded.  It  was  no  great  merit  to  know  how  to  take  a 
licking;  but  for  a  fellow  almost  to  go  out  of  his  way 
to  let  it  fall  on  him  was  a  little  surprising.  The  Doctor 
had  his  mind  on  Tristram's  parting  word :  "  Remember. 


THE    FIFTH    OF    NOVEMBER         187 

sir,  if  you  punish  me  publicly,  I  will  repay  it  publicly !  " 
and  had  his  reinforcements  at  hand  against  any  event. 
They  were  not  needed.  Tristram  took  his  thwackings 
with  stolid  exterior. 

The  whole  school  trooped  out  into  the  playground ; 
the  Door-mats  raised  a  loyal  cheer  and  gathered  round 
their  stricken  hero  on  his  appearance.  Tristram's  eyes 
were  at  sharp  play ;  lighting  on  young  Tom  Coney,  they 
stopped  from  their  quest.  That  blameless  youth  heard 
his  name  sung  out  like  a  word  of  command,  and  beheld 
confronting  him  a  white,  stung  face  that  bade  him  stand. 
Tristram  was  polite,  "  I'm  sorry  to  have  to  hurt  you," 
said  he. 

"  I  should  be  sorry  if  you  tried !  "  retorted  the  other, 
wondering  what  was  meant. 

The  two  lads  were  of  equal  height ;  Coney's  was  the 
thicker  build. 

"  Your  father  has  thrashed  me,"  said  Tristram,  "  now  I 
thrash  you,  unless  you  like  to  save  trouble  at  once  by 
carrying  him  this  message  for  me."  The  message  was 
indicated  smartly ;  young  Coney  was  quick  to  let  the 
sender  have  it  back  again.  Neither  of  them  drew  back 
then.  Etiquette  called  them  off  to  ground  allowed  by 
usage  to  stern  encounters  such  as  this.  Sixty  boys 
headed  away  in  a  rush  to  get  places;  on  the  way  Tris- 
tram called  on  Bowling  to  be  his  second.  Coats  were 
soon  off  and  belts  made  tight.  "  Now,  if  you  please,  Dr. 
Coney,"  said  Tristram,  for  the  rest  to  hear,  fitting  the 
title  to  his  opponent,  and  with  a  visionary's  eye  sprang 
in  to  the  attack.  He  made  all  perceive  that  it  was  the 
Beak  himself  he  had  before  him;  every  blow  he  dealt 
out  was  against  that  unjust  authority,  and  those  received 
coming  from  the  same  source  only  kindled  him  to  a  more 
virtuous  ardour. 

Young  Tom,  with  his  father's  honour  to  protect,  hit 


1 88  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

out  valiantly ;  for  ten  minutes  by  the  clock  he  seemed 
more  unlike  taking  a  thrashing  than  giving  one  to  his 
opponent.  Bowling,  whispering  encouragement  at  a 
moment  when  it  seemed  sorely  needed,  heard  Tristram 
mutter,  "  Oh,  I'm  all  right.  Can't  turn  my  tail,  don't  you 
see !  "  and  was  relieved  to  discover  his  principal  in  such 
spirits.  Tristram  could  explain  afterwards  that  he 
really  did  not  feel  the  blows  delivered  against  the  fore- 
part of  him.  The  panacea  was  behind.  "  I  was  bound 
to  win,"  he  said,  "  —  short  of  a  knock-out ;  and  I  was 
just  enough  his  equal  for  that  not  to  be  likely.  I  tell 
you,  if  you  want  to  feel  certain  of  yourself,  get  a  thrashing 
first !  " 

Yet  it  took  him  twenty  minutes  to  arrive  at  his  cer- 
tainty. At  the  finish,  there  were  few  pins  to  choose 
between  them ;  but  Tom  Coney  promised  to  carry  the 
sense  of  Tristram's  message  to  the  Doctor  —  to  state  the 
case,  that  was  to  say.  The  two  boys  shook  hands  on  it, 
Tristram  averring  that  his  opponent  was  not  to  think 
himself  a  tale-bearer:  the  exacter  the  account  the  better 
would  he  love  him. 

The  Door-mats,  lifting  their  hero  on  high,  bore  him 
enthusiastically  off  the  school  grounds  —  a  painful  prog- 
ress for  him,  and  one  that  he  was  destined  never  to 
retrace. 

The  next  morning  a  letter  was  received  at  the  Valley 
House  requesting  Mr.  Gavney  to  withdraw  his  son  from 
the  school. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

A    CHAPTER    OF    CONTRASTS 

'  I  ARISTRAM  had  never  seen  his  father  so  moved. 
"  My  son  expelled !  "  he  kept  repeating,  and  re- 
quested the  culprit  if  he  had  any  respect  for  himself  to 
invent  no  excuses.  Tristram  had  to  sit  and  listen.  "  What 
will  your  poor  mother  say !  "  cried  his  father,  seeing  him 
remain  stolid. 

"  It  depends  on  what  she  is  told !  "  retorted  the  lad. 

'  Told !  what  is  she  to  be  told  but  the  truth  ?  This  is 
the  way  you  shorten  her  life !  The  whole  episode  is  dis- 
graceful !  A  son  of  mine !  You  associate  with  your 
inferiors ;  pick  them  out,  it  seems,  as  fitter  material  for 
the  stirring  up  of  rebellion :  and  from  that  go  on  publicly 
to  insult  your  head-master.  To-day  I  send  him  my 
apology,  and  shall  promise  him  yours,  to  be  made  as  he 
shall  dictate,  if  he  will  consent  to  your  return." 

Tristram  cried  out  that  no  apology  should  come  out  of 
his  lips.    "  I'd  die  first!  "  was  his  way  of  putting  it. 

"  Where  do  you  think  you  are  going  to  finish  your 
education  ?  "  his  father  asked,  with  a  better  sense  of  pro- 
portion ;  and  when  "  other  schools "  were  suggested 
(Tristram  having  one  particularly  in  his  mind's  eye)  let 
his  son  understand  with  sudden  frankness  of  speech, 
that  he  could  not  afford  it. 

"  If  you  think  I  am  to  spend  extra  money  to  relieve 

189 


iqo  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

you  of  the  results  of  your  folly,"  said  Mr.  Gavney,  "  let 
me  tell  you  that  you  come  at  the  wrong  time." 

"  I  thought "  said  Tristram,  and  paused. 

"You  thought?" 

'  That  Aunt  Doris  had  left  enough :  Mother  told  me 
something  about  it  one  day."  The  boy  seemed  ashamed 
to  speak. 

His  father  said  curtly,  with  offended  tone,  "  Your  cost 
already  covers  what  is  available.  Understand  I  can  pay 
no  more  for  you  than  I  do  now.  You  make  but  a  poor 
return  on  the  outlay,  I  think.  Does  this  last  exploit  en- 
courage me  to  increase  it  ?  " 

Tristram's  face  burned  with  confusion  and  anger.  He 
said  desperately  in  self-defence:  "You  never  told  me, 
sir,  that  we  were  poor." 

'  Who  tells  you  ?  who  tells  you  ?  "  cried  Mr.  Gavney 
with  irritation.  "  Am  I  to  be  questioned,  and  have  words 
imputed  to  me  if  I  cannot  make  my  ends  meet  your  ex- 
travagant expectations?  Do  you  disgrace  me,  because 
you  think  I  have  means  to  repair  your  mistakes  ?  " 

Tristram  became  altogether  mute:  his  father  beheld  a 
stock-solid  face  of  impenitent  opposition.  It  stung  him 
to  demand  a  definite  submission.  "  On  my  return  to-night 
you  will  have  a  written  apology  ready  to  accompany 
mine!  "  was  Mr.  Gavney's  last  word.     "  You  hear?  " 

'  I  hear,"  said  Tristram.  When  his  father  enquired  for 
him  twelve  hours  later  he  was  not  to  be  found. 

At  that  moment  the  Sage's  housekeeper  was  having  the 
benefit  of  his  presence.  He  had  arrived  in  the  late  after- 
noon only  to  find  his  old  friend  absent.  By  the  looks  of 
him  he  was  fagged  out,  for  his  coming  there  was  an 
after-thought,  when  fatigue  had  warned  him  to  seek 
some  destination  for  the  night.  A  welcome  waited  him ; 
he  had  hardly  to  ask  for  a  night's  lodging,  so  ready  was 
the  offer  of  it.    The  evening  of  the  morrow  brought  the 


A    CHAPTER  OF    CONTRASTS        191 

* 

Sage,  and  all  the  fine  story  of  himself  had  to  be  gone 
over.  The  lad  told  it  ruefully  enough,  but  on  certain 
points  doggedly ;  he  did  not  now  expect  to  be  commended, 
but  he  was  prepared  to  do  battle  for  what  he  considered 
his  principles.  He  was  convinced  at  least  that  he  had 
done  nothing  disgraceful ;  and  the  word  had  been  hurled 
at  him :  had  sent  him  out  of  the  house  "  for  ever,"  as  he 
had  declared  to  himself  dramatically,  vowing  henceforth 
to  be  a  free  man.  He  had  spent  two  objectless  days  in 
finding  that  the  vocation  hung  heavy  on  his  hands. 

The  Sage's  rebuke  came  from  an  unexpected  quarter. 
"  What  on  earth,"  he  demanded,  "  had  sane,  healthy 
English  youth  to  do  with  that  most  vile  of  modern  follies 
and  abominations  called  fireworks.  'Twas  a  conspicuous 
product  of  Lucifer  the  fallen ;  and  came  hot  out  of  hell, 
its  chief  factory ;  'twas  the  gift  of  Prometheus  to  men 
derisively  thrown  to  waste ;  the  folly  of  Babel  breaking 
out  in  the  ministry  of  fire  whose  pure  tongue  was  to 
preach  the  sacredness  of  the  domestic  hearth ;  "  and  a 
hundred  more  things  over  which  the  Sage  made  eloquent 
and  giddy  comparisons.  He  told  the  boy  emphatically 
that  to  handle  the  fires  of  idolatry  destroyed  the  moral 
consciousness ;  that  he  was  bound  to  be  wrong  enlisting 
himself  in  such  a  cause. 

Tristram  took  the  rebuke  in  good  part,  knowing  him- 
self free  to  argue  on  level  terms  with  this  antagonist,  in 
the  mountains  of  whose  prejudice  existed  no  malice ;  who 
had  the  gift  of  making  opposition  the  bond  of  friendship, 
and  with  whom  to  be  poles  apart  implied  no  rancour 
deeper  than  of  the  tongue.  The  self-applause  which 
affronted  youth  is  keen  to  detect  in  the  wisdom  of  its 
elders  lay  but  surface-deep  —  in  the  crustiness,  that  is 
to  say  —  of  the  wise  rattle-pated  Sage.  To  work  off  his 
hot  blood,  Tristram  could  not  have  come  to  a  better  place 
of  exercise.     He  carried  the  war  into  his  mentor's  com- 


192  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

parisons,  declaring  the  tin  fallen  angels  also  to  have  a 
penchant  for  fireworks,  and  citing  Scripture.  The  Sage 
could  point  out  to  him  in  return  that  right-minded  man 
had  exhibited  a  wholesome  dread  of  their  display :  expul- 
sion from  Eden  and  a  crushed  foot  were  the  two  results 
recorded  on  the  points  instanced. 

Tristram  boasted  a  battered  shin,  a  back  yet  more  bat- 
tered, and  a  face  bearing  the  marks  of  desperate  combat ; 
he  thought  he  had  earned  honourably  by  these  expulsion 
from  a  place  which  was  to  him  no  Eden  at  all.  Through 
the  frank  laughter  the  Sage  got  out  of  him,  showed  the 
hard  edge  of  a  determination  to  make  no  retraction  to 
an  authority  which  had  seized  ells  where  inches  were  but 
its  questionable  property.  The  boy's  final  position  came 
to  be:  "  Yes,  I  may  have  behaved  badly;  but  I'd  a  right 
to!  "  He  had  to  laugh  at  himself  as  soon  as  that  remark 
came  to  be  heard. 

The  Sage  discerned  the  limits  of  his  conquest :  Tris- 
tram was  no  longer  unduly  proud  of  his  achievement ; 
internally  he  was  moved  to  see  error  in  himself;  out- 
wardly to  those  who  had  dealt  high-handed  judgment 
against  him  he  was  adamant.  He  put  in  another  way,  to 
the  more  sympathetic  ears  which  now  heard  him,  what 
he  had  already  told  his  father.  "  It  would  be  mere 
cowardice  for  me  to  go  back  and  say  what  I  did  not  feel !  " 
And  the  Sage,  understanding  how  in  that  mood  the 
wheat  and  tares  stood  mingled,  and  mindful  of  a  wise 
parable,  became  an  advocate  of  the  boy's  claim  to  do 
penance  without  strains  to  his  conscience. 

"  Tristram  is  with  me,"  he  wrote  to  the  boy's  father. 
"  An  order  from  you  for  his  return  he  would  now  obey ; 
that  is  why  I  beg  you  not  to  send  it."  He  followed  up  the 
request  with  rather  wordy  wisdom,  in  the  main  a  true 
enough  reading  of  that  unruly  character.  Perhaps  the 
dead  hand  of  Doris  gave  some  guidance  to  his  pen, 


A    CHAPTER  OF    CONTRASTS        193 

Mr.  Gavney  read  little  meaning  into  the  old  man's 
periods,  but  was  flattered  that  Celebrity  should  be  at  such 
pains  and  take  so  eloquent  an  interest  in  his  son's  career. 
He  trusted  there  was  sense  in  the  advice,  and  accepted 
the  glory  of  having  a  famous  man  for  his  confidential 
adviser.  His  thanks  to  the  Sage  conveyed  to  Tristram 
the  inference  of  at  least  a  formal  pardon  for  his  misde- 
meanour. He  was  not  required  to  eat  humble-pie  before 
Dr.  Coney ;  it  seemed  unnecessary  to  tell  him  that  that 
offended  dignitary  had  already  refused  the  offer. 

Tristram  wrote  penitently  to  his  father  of  the  trouble 
he  had  caused,  and  a  certain  measure  of  gratitude  warmed 
his  words,  making  them  humble.  Mr.  Gavney  styled  it, 
"  a  very  proper  letter."  It  brought  from  Mrs.  Gavney  a 
tender  epistolary  caress  to  the  pardoned  sinner ;  and 
therewith  a  hinted  reproach  that  he  had  not  come  to  her 
for  mediation  and  advice  when  difficulties  had  befallen 
him.  Tristram's  thoughts  flew  out  in  kisses  to  the  deli- 
cate apprehensive  face  of  his  would-be  confidante,  who 
understood  so  little  her  inability  to  bear  the  worry  of 
any  thinking  but  what  the  conventions  of  life  brought 
her. 

Cooler  consideration  showed  to  Mr.  Gavney  that  his 
son's  school  failure  had  relieved  him  of  a  difficulty ;  he 
did  not  feel  bound  now  to  afford  him  the  final  polish 
of  a  university  career ;  he  regretted  that  the  release 
should  be  so  great  a  convenience  under  present  circum- 
stances, but  there  it  was.  In  the  matter  of  another 
school  —  also  a  public  school  which  would  be  so  expen- 
sive —  he  could  plead  Tristram's  practical  expulsion  from 
Friars-gate  as  an  obstacle.  It  remained  then  to  fit  him  for 
the  inheritance  in  trade  awaiting  him  at  Sawditch,  while 
still  giving  him  the  veneer  of  culture  required  in  a 
gentleman. 

The  Doris  legacy?  well,  he  trusted  as  a  parent  that  he 
Q 


194  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

was  spending  it  honestly  for  his  son's  benefit  —  his 
eventual  benefit,  which  was,  after  all,  the  business  in 
which  his  life  itself  would  have  to  be  spent  —  without 
rendering  an  account  to  the  uttermost  farthing.  When 
Tristram  came  of  age  he  should  hear  a  satisfactory  ex- 
planation of  the  matter ;  in  his  own  mind  "  &  Son " 
would  then  be  the  virtual  terms  under  which  the  business 
was  to  go  flourishing.  It  was  the  generous  out-look 
natural  to  a  sanguine  man ;  and  he  had  the  proud  belief 
that  his  son,  rid  of  the  early  tares  of  youth,  would  grow 
up  like-minded  to  himself,  with  a  disposition  for  business 
equal  to  his  own. 

The  problem  of  the  completion  of  Tristram's  education, 
more  especially  of  his  initiation  into  the  theory  of  com- 
merce, lay  easy  of  solution  :  Mr.  Gavney  found  himself 
hand  in  glove  with  Fate.  One,  Gilpinger,  for  many  years 
right-hand  man  and  head  clerk  at  the  works,  but  lately 
retired  from  office  on  savings  and  a  grievance,  had  come 
to  live  on  the  outskirts  of  Bembridge.  Mr.  Gavney  knew 
of  no  better  man  to  give  his  son  technical  instruction  in 
the  commercial  side  of  the  business  he  was  to  belong  to. 
A  temper  of  increasing  crustiness  had  caused  Gilpinger 
to  become  a  clog  to  the  establishment.  Clerks  refused 
to  work  under  him ;  he  had  not  the  eye  that  could  wink 
at  venial  irregularities ;  the  waste  of  a  minute  won  threat 
of  a  report  for  dismissal ;  his  rectitude  was  austere, 
growling,  and  without  a  grace  in  its  manifestations. 
There  had  been  storm ;  a  body  of  valuable  clerks  had 
offered  their  resignation.  Mr.  Gavney  had  considered 
Gilpinger's  age,  his  manifest  infirmity  of  temper,  and  had 
bidden  him  take  the  rest  he  now  deserved.  Thus  it  was 
that  the  old  clerk  sat  at  home,  pathetically  empty-handed, 
hating  the  sunshine  of  unoccupied  hours,  while  his  eye 
could  still  snap  up  a  column  of  figures,  and  his  head 
foregather  the  meaning  of  disturbed  markets  and  fluctuat- 


A    CHAPTER   OF    CONTRASTS        195 

ing  prices.  Resentment  perhaps  caused  him  to  utter 
jeremiads  against  the  house  which  had  shaken  off  his 
serviceable  dust ;  yet  a  personal  loyalty  to  his  old  employer 
still  clung  to  him. 

The  offer  that  he  should  have  the  coaching  of  Tristram 
in  the  lar^e  mvsteries  of  commerce,  was  as  a  restored 
testimonial  to  his  powers.  It  was  settled  that  the  youth 
should  come  to  him  three  mornings  a  week  for  instruc- 
tion ;  old  books  of  the  firm  were  sent  down  to  him,  that 
he  might  have  means  at  hand  for  practical  demonstration ; 
he  beheld  himself  surrounded  by  a  library  which  repre- 
sented the  labours  of  a  lifetime,  very  different  to  that 
wherewith  old  Daddy  Wag-top  comforted  his  loneliness. 

Tristram,  coming  penitentially  to  bear  the  burden  of 
his  sins  and  to  be  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  industrious 
at  something  lying  right  away  from  real  interests,  met 
and  recognised  an  enthusiast.  A  mind  wondrous  for 
docketed  contents  and  innumerable  pigeon-holes  opened 
to  give  him  its  stores,  and  stuffy  as  they  were,  the  boy 
discovered  a  perverted  romance  in  mathematics  that 
seethed  with  the  hum  of  markets,  and  in  figures  that 
represented  men  rushing  to  ruin  or  to  fortune.  The  old 
fellow's  finger  pointed  the  tortuous  way  the  firm  had 
wound  past  this  and  that  peril,  to  safety  and  affluence; 
that  was  his  work  more  perhaps  than  Air.  Gavney  was 
aware.  Of  what  went  on  under  present  conditions,  Mr. 
Gilpinger  indicated  a  jealous  ignorance. 

Tristram  watched  with  fascination  the  massive  grasp 
the  old  man's  mind  had  on  years  represented  merely  by 
columns  of  figures,  checked  over  everywhere  in  red  and 
blue  ink.  His  memory  could  inspire  his  hand  to  turn  back 
unerringly  over  a  hundred  pages  and  show  cause  and 
just  impediment  why  this  or  the  other  had  not  to  be 
done  for  the  firm's  welfare ;  and  more,  too,  how  the  keen 
eye  of  supervision  had  detected  an  inefficient  or  dishonest 


196  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

stewardship.  The  sight  was  comparable  to  that  of  a 
general  with  commissariat  army  and  transport.  The  boy's 
brain  whirled,  seasick  and  tossed ;  he  began  to  settle  that 
he  had  no  head  for  figures,  and  must  presently  fall  down 
in  penitent  despair  at  his  father's  feet  and  beg  to  be  let 
off. 

Presently  the  old  man  let  him  know  that  he  had  but 
taken  him  up  on  to  Pisgah-top  to  give  him  a  glimpse  of 
the  Promised  Land,  and  a  longing  for  its  glories.  He 
brought  him  down  to  dry  figures,  and  so  smoothed  his 
teaching  with  the  methodical  accuracy  of  long  experience, 
that  Tristram,  finding  no  difficulties  at  all,  was  left  with 
the  deadly  dulness  of  the  thing  and  the  caged  thought 
somewhere  at  the  back  of  his  brain  that  he  owed  all  this 
to  a  night  of  fireworks  and  a  beating. 

Often  at  the  end  of  his  three  hours'  tuition,  he  would 
leap  up  wild  of  eye  on  the  stroke  of  time,  as  if  to  hear 
another  syllable  on  the  subject  would  be  too  much  for  his 
endurance.  For  recompense  he  would  arrive  home 
breathless;  his  body  became  hard  and  lean  with  much 
running  —  the  result  of  arithmetic  and  book-keeping.  No 
new  thing,  one  might  suppose,  since  he  had  already  been 
through  some  schooling,  but  with  this  difference:  he 
began  to  see  that  instead  of  a  thing  almost  meaningless, 
or  laid  on  him  for  discipline,  it  meant  life :  days  and  days 
of  what  he  was  to  expect,  made  bearable  to  him  for  the 
present  only  because  old  Gilpinger  loved  him  after  a  sour 
fashion  of  his  own,  and  took  a  pride  in  his  progress. 

Looking  out  with  a  glum  eye  on  the  clock  to  know  if 
his  pupil  would  be  punctual,  he  would  brighten  his 
crabbed  looks  to  welcome  a  scrambled  arrival  which  was 
always  just  not  late.  Tristram  could  have  loved  him  in 
return,  had  the  bond  between  them  been  a  little  more  to 
his  liking ;  as  it  was,  his  respect  mounted  to  an  enormous 
enthusiasm.     He  told  Marcia,  when  writing  word  of  his 


A    CHAPTER  OF    CONTRASTS        197 

new  studies,  that  the  House  was  what  it  was,  and  they 
themselves  what  they  were,  because  old  Gilpinger  had  the 
biggest  head  for  figures  in  the  three  kingdoms.  "  When 
he's  dead  they  ought  to  have  his  brain  weighed !  "'  he 
declared.  It  was  with  a  puzzled  sensation  of  distress  that 
he  heard  one  evening  from  his  father  that  this  mighty 
mind  of  business  was  positively  gratified  over  his  applica- 
tion and  progress.  "  Hopeful  "  was  one  of  the  words 
used ;  and  the  youth's  heart  metaphorically  rapped  the 
floor  over  all  that  such  hope  betokened.  Thus  was  Tris- 
tram inducted  into  the  path  destined  for  his  feet. 

Over  the  other  side  of  his  training,  gentle  and  classical, 
he  had  less  cause  to  sigh  :  it  brought  Ray  back  to  him. 
That  youth  was  in  trouble  to  pass  his  "  smalls,"  a  stand- 
ard too  high  for  his  attainment  after  a  course  of  public- 
school  athletics,  to  which  brain-work  had  stood  secondary. 
If  college  was  to  be  his  next  step,  a  coach  had  become 
necessary.  The  two  friends  went  in  company,  morning 
and  afternoon,  to  a  solitary  curate  quartered  at  Long 
Alwyn  under  Randogger,  as  spiritual  guide  to  all  the 
scattered  community  living  between  Parson's  Coppice  and 
Hiddenden.  The  youths  found  it  a  good  neighbourhood 
for  the  recreation  which  sandwiched  perfunctory  scholar- 
ship. Some  of  their  Latinity  they  carried  over  to  Hidden- 
den, and  dropped  raw  and  crude  into  the  delighted  ears 
of  Daddy  Wag-top.  Wilder  rambles  found  them  in  the 
company  of  old  Haycraft,  with  whom  sometimes  Tristram 
would  leave  Raymond  and  be  carried  off  by  Lizzie  to  the 
less  manly  but  more  exciting  sport  of  birds'-nesting.  Few 
as  the  words  were  that  he  ever  got  from  her  he  found 
that  she  had  a  fine  instinct  for  the  game.  She  would  as 
often  nod  her  meaning  as  speak  it :  she  could  keep  a  secret 
that  habit  seemed  to  say.  It  brought  him  to  be  observant 
of  each  passing  look :  often  over  a  clutch  of  eggs  their 
eyes  met  triumphantly,  till  at  last,  after  many  meetings 


198  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

and  partings,  the  Tramp's  began  to  carry  a  clear  memory 
of  the  brownness  in  hers.  The  note  they  gave  him  of  her 
inner  character  was  very  pleasant.  He  judged  people  by 
their  eyes ;  these  were  the  brownest  he  had  ever  seen,  the 
clearest  depths  of  a  shaded  brook  shared  that  note  of 
deadened  gold  infinitely  charged  with  shadows  of  a  like 
tone ;  nothing  that  touched  common  air  was  quite  the 
same.  The  boy,  looking  into  their  mystery  as  into  a 
picture-book,  was  too  raw  as  yet  to  read  any  romance 
into  them ;  but  vaguely  they  appealed  to  him,  making 
comradeship  easy.  So  did  her  brief,  direct  utterance,  and 
those  long  silences  which,  when  a  quest  was  on,  made  her 
so  commendable  a  companion.  She  was  two  vears  his 
senior,  and  the  beauty  of  early  day  which  hung  about 
her  visage,  shadowy  under  dark  folds  of  hair,  promised 
to  be  greater.  He  noted  her  stride  and  the  confidence 
with  which  she  lifted  weights ;  everything  approved  her 
to  his  eyes.  Had  he  been  sentimentally-drawn,  he  would 
presently  have  been  mooing  calf-love  to  her;  but  he  was 
still  at  the  age  when  friendship,  not  sex,  kindles  the  mind 
to  its  romance.  Latent,  under  the  healthy  run  of  his 
blood,  the  animal  in  him  said  a  word  or  two ;  but  it  found 
and  let  go  again  without  any  disturbances  to  their  rela- 
tions. She  was  a  girl  just  bordering  on  womanhood, 
without  that  consciousness  of  the  fact,  which  disturbs  the 
charm  while  making  it  dangerous.  Tristram  recalled  how 
Raymond  had  first  put  her  down  as  sulky,  and  still  so 
thinking,  he  supposed,  by  something  in  his  manner,  had 
taught  her  to  dislike  him ;  for  of  Raymond  she  fought  shy. 
It  mattered  little :  the  Tramp's  knack  of  comradeship  lay 
in  the  limits  of  two,  finding  in  three,  according  to  the 
adage,  not  company  but  society :  to  be  one  of  four  was  to 
be  in  a  crowd. 

The  limitation  made  his  affections  appear  more  weather- 
cock-like than  they  really  were;  his  life  seemed  a  process 


A    CHAPTER  OF    CONTRASTS        199 

of  desertions,  till  the  opportunity  came  for  an  affection 
to  reassert  itself.  Marcia,  home  for  a  holiday  from  her 
own  schooling,  had  her  turn  of  finding  herself  approved 
once  more.  Her  brother  contemplated  her  for  some  days, 
puzzled  and  charmed  by  the  stranger  in  her.  He  solved 
his  problem  at  last  by  supposing  her  to  be  grown-up  and 
"  finished  "  in  all  the  educational  graces  that  were  her 
due.  He  paid  her  a  naive  compliment  by  enquiring,  "  I 
say,  Marcia,  aren't  you  very  pretty?"  and  really  required 
to  be  told  or  rather  confirmed  in  his  own  opinion,  which 
might  be  the  result  of  brotherly  blindness  or  family  preju- 
dice in  her  favour.  He  consulted  his  mother  on  the  sub- 
ject, with  Marcia's  laugh  ringing  at  him,  and  finally,  to 
get  an  outsider's  opinion,  Raymond,  who  said,  "Yes!" 
with  an  emphasis  that  made  him  proud.  After  that  he 
remained  quite  certain  of  Marcia's  exceeding  prettiness. 
Her  spirits  were  quite  as  they  used  to  be,  and  the  moral 
phase  in  her  had  been  comfortably  tucked  to  rest;  if  it 
peeped  ever,  to  moderation,  it  was  with  a  twinkle.  She 
gave  him  anecdotes  of  the  cousins,  outlining  pleasant 
conditions,  but  letting  him  understand  that  the  end  of  it 
would  bring  her  back  "  home  "  to  him. 

Now  they  could  have  ridden  together  and  taken  big 
breaths  of  the  country-side,  but  were  confronted  by  a 
stable  reduced  to  the  modest  requirements  of  Mrs.  Gav- 
ney's  daily  drive,  a  silent  indication  of  things  about  which 
no  word  was  ever  said  to  them.  Tristram  said,  "  I  get  a 
ride,  though,  now  and  then  ?  "  and  looked  mysterious.  He 
told  his  sister  he  could  ride  bare-backed,  and  that  no  horse 
could  get  him  off.  She  declared  she  had  done  the  same 
for  a  wager  among  her  Foley  cousins,  and  not  told,  since 
the  thing  would  have  been  thought  unladylike  there. 
The  bit  of  news  solved  for  Tristram  some  fresh  part  of 
her  developed  character.  "  Why,  you  are  like  Lizzie !  " 
he  declared,  and  seemed  to  have  lighted  on  the  reason 


200  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

why  the  two  of  them  were  so  satisfactory.  Now  he  saw 
a  resemblance  in  looks  as  well,  and  took  Marcia  to  make 
the  acquaintance  of  her  rustic  double.  On  their  meeting 
the  likeness  fell  away.  Lizzie  drew  into  her  shell  and 
showed  so  awkwardly,  that  Tristram  was  surprised  to 
hear  Marcia  say  that  she  liked  her.  To  give  Lizzie  a 
title  to  such  favour,  he  told  his  sister  of  the  Amazon 
courage  the  girl  possessed  —  Duffin's  horses  in  the 
secluded  fields  under  Randogger  Edge  knew  it  if  nobody 
else  did.  Dawn  was  the  time ;  he  and  she  in  the  grey 
mists  of  that  hour  had  ridden  races  under  a  chill  air. 
They  had  their  eye,  too,  on  a  field  where  lively  colts  ran 
loose,  owner  unknown.  Marcia  was  invited  to  the  spec- 
tacle but  declined,  calling  them  horse-lifters. 

Tristram  should  not  have  boasted :  a  week  after  Mar- 
cia's  departure,  he  got  a  surprising  fall.  Unaccountably 
it  was  his  foot  and  not  his  head  that  met  with  damage. 
He  got  himself  up,  and  tried  limping  with  Lizzie's  aid, 
but  had  to  give  in ;  the  jolt  of  it  was  too  much  for  him. 
They  had  two  fields  and  a  brook  to  cross  before  getting  to 
any  foot-track.  Lizzie  took  him  up  on  her  back,  an  easy 
task  to  her  strength,  and  too  sensible  for  the  Tramp  to 
make  more  than  a  show  of  protest.  Her  hearty  service 
to  him  in  his  disablement  caused  him  as  a  sort  of  honour- 
able obligation  to  make  little  of  the  pain  :  having  a  pang 
at  one  end  he  became  the  more  frivolous  at  the  other.  It 
was  ridiculous,  yet  nice,  to  feel  himself  aloft  by  the 
strength  of  this  firm  piece  of  budding  womanhood,  who 
strode  evenly  under  the  weight  of  him.  "  After  all,"  he 
said,  "  what's  the  difference?  Instead  of  a  colt  I've  got 
a  filly !    Woa,  my  girl !  "     Lizzie  bade  him  not  talk. 

He  blew  into  her  hair  behind,  called  it  her  mane,  and 
teased  her  with  the  phraseology  of  the  stable.  When  she 
threatened  to  drop  him  if  he  did  not  cease  his  nonsense, 
he   called   her   vicious,   and   talked   about   her  mouth    in 


A    CHAPTER   OF    CONTRASTS        201 

terms  of  bit  and  bridle.  Shy,  he  said,  was  good  for  a 
woman,  but  bad  for  a  horse.  "  Are  you  shy,  my  filly?" 
Beginning  with  boyish  chaff,  his  talk  took  a  thoughtless 
run  into  mischief ;  the  situation  made  him  a  little  more 
foolish.  Just  when  she  stepped  down  with  him  to  the 
brook,  he  thought  a  good  moment  for  being  rather  more 
absurd  than  ever.  A  skin-deep  idea  that  to  be  in  love 
with  her  would  be  nice,  caused  him  to  rub  his  cheek  on 
hers  and  ask  like  a  fondling  fool  —  Did  she  love  him 
or  no ! 

Apparently  no ;  he  found  himself  abruptly  deposited, 
legs  in  water,  with  a  sharp  wrench  to  the  injured  ankle; 
and  beheld  Lizzie  sitting  angry-eyed  on  the  further  bank. 

Sight  of  her  face  was  sufficient  to  make  him  say, 
"  Serve  me  right !  "  and  to  beg  pardon,  humbly.  He 
meant  it,  and  had  taken  his  lesson.  It  came  at  the  right 
moment  to  help  him  over  the  crude  mock-turtle  season, 
which  raw  youth  goes  through  on  its  way  to  the  makings 
of  a  man.  Lizzie,  the  playmate,  had  by  a  simple  display 
of  mettle,  received  stature  and  gained  his  respect.  She 
showed  her  magnanimity  by  coming  back  to  fetch  him 
across,  and  the  culprit  took  the  favour  as  a  very  proper 
chastisement.  She  had  not  again  to  complain  of  him.  If 
thereafter  Tristram  cogitated  on  the  growing  charm  of 
womanhood,  he  did  so  with  a  greater  respect  than  edu- 
cational convention  had  taught  him,  and  for  that  had  to 
thank  Lizzie. 

That  good  girl  showed  her  forgiveness  of  him  by 
making  no  change  in  her  frank  acceptance  of  his  friend- 
ship. Coming  upon  her  at  dawns  in  the  yet  twilight  fields 
to  help  fill  her  mushroom  basket,  he  found  in  her  an  un- 
troubled and  untroubling  type  of  fair  womanhood,  carry- 
ing out  for  him  into  the  world  of  her  sex  the  sisterhood 
of  Marcia.  In  those  primal  hours,  when  tentative 
lights    and    colours    washed    in    faint    waves    over    the 


202  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

threshold  of  the  sun,  she  seemed  to  have  part  in  the  spirit 
of  the  wind  itself  which  sprang,  harbinger  of  day,  equable 
and  cool  with  the  wide  breath  of  health.  Dawn,  for  those 
who  will  rise  to  it,  is  the  daylight  hour  of  the  soul,  so 
little  then  does  the  body  hinder  that  perspective  of  the 
higher  intelligence  which  momentarily  opens  to  us  all. 
In  this  year  of  his  life,  following  the  freaks  of  his  blood, 
Tristram  grasped  something  of  its  health-giving  signifi- 
cance, and  felt  in  his  veins  a  response  to  the  divine 
alchemy.  By  his  side  during  many  of  these  hours  Lizzie 
Haycraft  moved  humble  yet  sisterly.  On  a  later  day  he 
had  to  remember  that  debt,  and  to  the  best  of  his  ability 
he  paid  it. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

APOLOGIES  TO  LADY  PETWYN 

rT"*\YO  days  later  Tristram  was  still  limping  tenderly 
on  a  convalescent  foot,  when  his  father  threw  down 
before  him  a  letter  from  Lady  Petwyn,  abrupt,  and 
couched  in  outrageous  terms,  giving  stiff  warning  that 
his  son's  trespasses  were  no  longer  to  be  tolerated.  She 
spoke  of  previous  communications ;  none  had  come. 

Mr.  Gavney  finding  feud  at  work  where  he  had  still 
hoped  one  day  to  find  favour,  was  the  more  indignant 
with  his  son  as  the  cause  of  it.  He  demanded  to  know 
what  it  all  meant  in  a  voice  of  irresolute  chagrin.  He 
fought  the  air  to  discover  a  larger  grievance. 

"  I  have  a  right  to  be  offended !  "  he  exclaimed ;  "  I 
have  worries  enough !  "  was  a  pathetic  after-thought.  He 
wished  to  be  deaf  to  anything  Tristram  could  say,  as  the 
way  was  with  him ;  argument  upset  his  judgment. 

But  on  this  occasion  his  son  showed  a  readiness  to  fall 
in  with  his  strictest  demands :  he  would  go  himself,  he 
said,  and  apologise ;  no  time  should  be  lost.  A  few 
hours  afterwards  he  set  off  as  proud  as  Lucifer  on  his 
self-imposed  errand  of  humility.  Underneath  Lady  Pet- 
wyn's  terms  of  opprobrium  he  scented  MacAllister,  the 
rank  fox  that  he  was ! 

By  that  wily  official's  contrivance  the  Tramp  had  been 
given  long  rope  to  hang  himself.  He  had  announced  with 
covert  insult  that  Lady  Petwyn's  word  would  be  enough 

203 


204  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

for  him;  nor  did  MacAllister  doubt  that  a  note  from  her, 
civilly  worded,  would  have  sufficed  to  put  an  end  to  the 
nuisance.  But  things  had  got  to  such  a  pitch  between 
him  and  the  youth  that  his  rancour  could  not  so  be  satis- 
fied. He  complained  moderately  to  her  ladyship  at 
stated  intervals,  but  omitted  to  send  on  the  merely  con- 
ventional complaints  for  which  he  received  direction. 
Thus  it  came  about  at  last  that  an  absolute  defiance  in 
Tristram's  attitude  was  conveyed  to  her. 

The  affair  of  the  loose-ridden  colts,  of  which  an  eye- 
witness brought  word,  gave  the  finishing  touch  to  an 
indignation  artfully  stimulated.  MacAllister  wanted  to 
get  his  hand  on  the  boy ;  but  on  cool  reflection  had  decided 
that  for  such  a  step  he  required  the  backing  of  his 
employer's  authority.  When  at  last  he  got  it  he  could 
assure  himself  that,  whatever  extremities  he  might  pro- 
ceed to,  the  legal  penalties  would  not  be  allowed  to  fall 
upon  him. 

Behind  his  back  the  lady's  liking  for  a  fair  field  and  no 
favour  undid  all  his  plans.  She  wrote  openly  to  Tris- 
tram's father  that,  ordinary  complaints  failing,  she  had 
given  orders  to  her  bailiff  that  the  boy  should  be  whipped 
off  the  ground  if  found  committing  depredations  on  her 
property. 

The  Tramp  was  aware  of  none :  in  all  his  record  he 
believed  he  had  done  no  damage.  With  the  possible 
exception  of  the  colts-episode  —  and  those  he  had  not 
known  to  be  her  property  —  he  had  been  guilty  of  noth- 
ing worse  than  fair  trespass,  a  thing  allowable  under  the 
broad  laws  of  England.  If  his  mood  was  apologetic,  it 
was  with  a  high  head  that  he  rang  at  the  doors  of  Hill 
Alwvn,  and  demanded  admission  to  the  presence  of  its 
mistress. 

A  footman  carried  word  of  him,  and  returning  after  a 
while  ushered  him  into  the  crippled  presence. 


APOLOGIES    TO    LADY    PETAYYX     205 

Lady  Petwyn  was  waiting  to  receive  him.  She  re- 
mained seated,  and  bowed  with  ironic  ceremony  to  a  tall 
lad  at  the  awkward  age,  whose  movements  escaped  the 
reproach,  showing  even  a  grace,  which  the  slight  limp 
he  brought  with  him  tended  to  enhance. 

Prettily  and  frankly  he  made  his  apologies.  She 
chose  to  think  they  were  done  to  escape  a  beating,  and 
gave  him  to  understand  that  they  came  rather  late  after 
the  offence. 

"  That  is  not  my  fault,"  he  said ;  "  your  ladyship  must 
have  chosen  an  untrustworthy  messenger.  It  is  of  that 
I  have  to  complain." 

"  Oho!  "  quoth  the  other,  "  so  it's  a  complaint  I'm  to 
listen  to,  is  it?"  She  heard  the  heads  of  it  concisely 
put ;  and  was  able  to  perceive  that  it  was  more  an 
errand  of  protest  than  of  apology  that  had  brought  him 
to  her. 

"  This  morning,"  said  Tristram,  "  I  heard  your  wishes 
for  the  first  time,  though  ever  so  long  ago  I  gave  my 
word  to  attend  to  them  if  you  thought  my  running  about 
did  any  harm.  In  your  letter  you  are  good  enough  to  say 
I  am  to  be  horse-whipped  off  the  estate.  I  promise  you, 
your  wish  alone  is  sufficient.  Mr.  MacAllister  tried  to  get 
in  with  his  horse-whip  before,  and  failed." 

"  It  seems,  however,"  said  Lady  Petwyn,  "  that  you 
have  repeatedly  ignored  his  remonstrances,  though  know- 
ing him  to  be  my  agent." 

"He  and  I  have  had  rows,"  answered  Tristram;  "  I 
took  it  he  was  merely  trying  on  his  authority  to  spite  me. 
A  word  from  you  would  have  ended  the  matter ;  by  not 
carrying  out  your  instructions  he  has  made  me  be  unin- 
tentionally rude  to  you.    I  am  very  sorry." 

"  Made  me  be  very  intentionally  rude  to  you,  I  suspect 
you  to  mean,"  said  the  lady,  amusing  herself  over  the 
boy's  covert  demand  for  an  apology. 


206  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

"  It  shan't  happen  again,"  he  promised. 

"  No!  "  she  laughed,  catching  at  cross-purposes  to  con- 
fuse his  assurance,  "  I'll  do  my  best  that  it  shan't.  Apolo- 
gies given  and  received ;  we  accept  each  other's  excuses. 
/  withdraw  the  horse-whip,  and  you  let  poor  MacAllister 
alone.     Is  that  so?  " 

Tristram  thanked  her,  adding,  "  Then  I  am  to  under- 
stand that  you  wish  me  to  keep  altogether  off  the  estate?  " 

Before  denying  the  wish,  "  It  seems  you  have  done 
damage,"  said  the  lady. 

"  I  go  about  everywhere,"  replied  Tristram,  "  and  none 
of  the  farmers  make  any  complaint." 

"  You  have  a  taste  for  horses  ;  ride,  it  seems  ;  not  always 
with  discretion,"  was  her  countering  stroke,  to  show  that 
she  had  reason  on  her  side. 

"  If  I  get  a  chance,  I  do,"  he  admitted. 

"  Other  people's  horses ;  of  course,  with  their  permis- 
sion ?  "    She  put  the  point  with  crafty  interrogation. 

"  Oh,  that  ?  "  Tristram  smiled,  to  show  that  at  last  he 
gathered  her  meaning.  "  It's  for  a  special  thing,  then,  I 
have  to  ask  your  pardon.  I've  been  punished  for  it.  The 
colts,  you  mean?  They  were  in  one  of  Duffin's  fields,  I 
might  have  thought  they  were  his.  Had  I  supposed  they 
were  yours,  I  would  have  thought  twice  before  making 
use  of  them." 

With  Farmer  Duffin's  more  genial  qualities  thus 
pleasantly  hinted  to  her,  Lady  Petwyn  enquired :  — 

"  And  what  does  your  Duffin  say  when  they  happen  to 
be  his?" 

Tristram  was  lured  on  by  the  lady's  tone  to  let  go  the 
roguish  impertinence  of  a  full  statement :  "  Oh,  he  and  I 
are  quite  friends.  Probably  when  he  sees  me  next  he 
says,  '  Drat  your  carcass,'  with,  maybe,  just  another  word 
thrown  in." 

"  A  very  suitable  remark,"  observed  the  lady ;  "  without 


APOLOGIES    TO    LADY    PETWYN    207 

our  being  exactly  friends  I  may  be  permitted  to  endorse 
it.    And  your  friendship  with  Duffin  continues?  " 

"  Oh  yes;  you  see,  we  understand  each  other,"  said  the 
boy. 

"  I  accept  the  rebuke,"  said  Lady  Petwyn ;  "  you  and  I, 
it  seems,  do  not.  My  fault,  no  doubt.  So,  since  the  other 
thing  is  beyond  us,  let  us  instead  come  to  a  full  //n'^under- 
standing,  and  have  done  with  it !  For  the  future,  tramp- 
ling over  my  land  is  forbidden  you ;  you  will  please  quite 
to  misunderstand  that!  " 

"  I  will  obey  your  wishes,  Lady  Petwyn,"  he  replied 
stiffly. 

She  laughed  out  at  his  defensive  simplicity.  "  I  think 
you  are  making  a  mock  of  me,"  she  said.  '  But  let  that 
go ;  we've  done !  " 

Throughout  the  interview  Tristram  had  been  standing ; 
now  she  pointed  him  to  a  chair.  u  So  then,"  she  said, 
"  business  is  over ;  we've  both  apologised,  both  been 
forgiven.  Please  to  sit  down  a  moment.  I  ask  it  as  a 
favour." 

Tristram  dropped  to  the  seat  indicated,  and  waited. 
She  fixed  him  with  an  unwinking  eye,  and  perused  his 
features.  He  gazed  back  in  frank  curiosity  to  know  what 
she  meant  by  it,  finding  himself  in  the  presence  of  a  new 
and  strange  breed. 

Lady  Petwyn  finished  her  study  of  him. 

Decidedly  she  liked  the  creature. 

"  Is  it  your  friendship  or  your  acquaintance  I  am  to 
make?  "  she  asked  him  abruptly. 

He  was  taken  aback  by  her  sudden  cordiality.  "  I  think 
you  are  very  kind  to  wish  either,"  he  replied,  "  after 
you've  found  me  so  troublesome." 

"  That,"  she  retorted,  "  is  the  first  dishonest  remark 
you  have  made  to  me !  " 

"  Well,"  objected  the  youth,  "  I'm  a  trespasser,  and 


208  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

you've  warned  me  off.  How's  friendship  to  come  out  of 
that?" 

"  When  did  I  warn  you  off?  " 

"  You  said  I  wasn't  to  trample." 

"That  you  were  to  misunderstand :  it  seems  that,  like 
an  idiot,  you  have  done  just  the  contrary.  Listen,  here! 
Do  what  you  will ;  come  and  go  as  you  will ;  don't  break 
fences;  be  civil  to  MacAUister;  and  if  you  do  a  damage, 
report  yourself!  It  has  gone  too  far  now  for  me  to 
promise  that  he  shan't  frown  at  you  ;  but  you  shan't  be 
horse-whipped.     Will  you  write  him  a  formal  apology?" 

"  No,  I  won't!    To  you,  I  will,  Lady  Petwyn." 

"  Then  /  must  —  for  letting  you  on  ;  that's  all  about  it ! 
After  all,  the  man  had  my  authority,  and  you  flouted  it. 
Go  and  tell  him  I've  winked  at  you  !  " 

She  sheered  off,  without  listening  to  his  protests  and 
thanks,  to  enquire  curiously  :  — 

"  And  the  other ;  the  petticoat,  who  also  rides  bare- 
backed, and  can  stick  on,  it  seems  :  —  who  is  she?  " 

Tristram  laughed.  '  That  was  Lizzie  Haycraft,"  he 
informed  her. 

"  What?  daughter  of  old  Haycraft,  the  vicar's  poacher? 
Is  she  another  of  your  friends  ?  " 

The  Tramp's  answer  was  a  plump  affirmative,  heartily 
uttered.    The  old  dame  eyed  him  discreetly. 

"  How  old  are  she  and  you  ?  " 

"  From  seventeen  and  on.    She's  the  elder,  I  fancy." 

"  Very  well ;  you  shouldn't  teach  a  girl  to  straddle  at 
that  age.    It  damages  her  character." 

"  She  taught  herself,  though,"  said  Tristram.  "  It's 
the  natural  way." 

"  Loss  of  character  is  ?  Oh  yes,  no  doubt !  "  Lady 
Petwyn  let  further  thought  on  the  subject  lie  unspoken. 
She  said  in  matter-of-fact  tones,  "If  you  want  to  ride, 
come  and  take  one  of  my  horses  for  an  airing ;  and  if  there 


APOLOGIES    TO    LADY    PETWYN    209 

is  anything  else  that  will  enable  our  better  acquaintance, 
if  you  can  think  of  it,  name  it !  " 

Tristram  asked  if  he  might  have  the  run  of  the  ponds. 

"  For  fishing?  "  she  enquired. 

"  Yes,  if  I  may ;  but  I  meant  for  boating  or  bathing.  It 
was  over  that  that  MacAllister  and  I  fell  to  loggerheads." 
He  told  her  the  whole  story ;  Lady  Petwyn  sat  through  it 
grim  with  suppressed  laughter. 

"  Well !  "  she  exclaimed  at  the  finish,  "  I  must  say  you 
behaved  abominably ;  it's  lucky,  when  MacAllister  re- 
proaches me,  that  I  can  plead  ignorance.  You  got  my 
word  out  of  me  first,  remember  that !  Keys  you'll  want ; 
they  are  not  supposed  to  be  transferable.  If  the  vicar  goes 
lending  them  to  professional  trespassers  he  may  as  well 
give  them  up  altogether.  I  don't  suppose  he  uses 
them." 

"  Oh,  but  Raymond  does  when  he  is  at  home,"  said 
Tristram. 

"  Raymond  ;  who  is  he?  " 

"  Young  Hannam ;  he's  my  friend." 

"  Oh !  another  friend,"  grunted  the  lady ;  "  you  are  a 
dangerous  gang,  the  whole  lot  of  you." 

She  vowed  at  parting  that  she  must  humble  herself  to 
MacAllister.  Tristram  anticipated  her ;  he  met  the  bailiff 
at  his  own  door. 

"  Mr.  MacAllister,"  said  he,  "  I've  been  to  see  Lady 
Petwyn.  and  she  has  made  matters  right.  I'm  to  be  a 
trespasser  no  longer,  and  she  says  that  you  and  I  are  not 
to  quarrel  any  more.  Since  we  can't  be  friends,  let's  do 
our  best  to  be  neutrals.    Shall  that  be  the  bargain  ?  " 

The  bailiff  looked  at  him  under  a  fixed  lowering  of  the 
eyelids,  and  made  reply.  "  To  be  neutrals,  Mr.  Gavney, 
one  needs  to  have  a  bad  memory.  I've  a  good  one !  ':  He 
turned  and  went  into  his  house. 

"  Well,  you  are  an  honest  beast,"  said  Tristram  to  him- 


210  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

self,  watching  him  disappear.  '  Yet  a  dishonest  one,  too, 
or  I'm  much  mistaken." 

There  could  be  no  doubt  that  Lady  Petwyn  had  made 
her  offer  with  the  intention  that  it  should  be  accepted. 
A  set  of  keys  came  to  the  Valley  House  for  Tristram  with 
her  ladyship's  compliments,  and  his  letter  of  thanks 
brought  an  intimation  that  a  horse  was  kicking  its  legs 
off  in  her  stables  waiting  for  him  to  try  it.  The  lady 
denied  that  she  had  any  kindly  intention  in  the  matter. 
"  You  pay  for  the  keys,"  she  told  him,  "  by  exercising 
my  horses.  If  you  will  only  use  one  of  the  beasts  regu- 
larly I  can  keep  a  groom  the  less.  They  have  nothing  to 
do  but  go  out  riding  on  what  spare  mounts  I  keep  for  my 
occasional  visitors.  Farmer  Duffin,  on  the  contrary, 
doesn't  want  his  horses  extra  ridden." 

Tristram  became  an  occasional  companion  to  the  lady 
when  she  rode  out.  She  found  his  views  of  life  entertain- 
ing :  he  quoted  his  friend,  the  Sage,  and  swore  by  all  the 
unreasonable  high  morality  of  that  great  student  of  the 
eternal  economies.  It  was  her  pleasure  to  flout  him  and 
put  logical  spokes  into  the  wheel  of  his  argument,  having, 
for  her  own  part,  strong  notions  of  the  uselessness  of  all 
man's  efforts  to  mend  a  bad  world  not  of  his  own  making. 
"Why  turn  scavenger?"  she  asked  him.  "Leave  that 
to  the  vestries,  clerical  and  lay ;  they  are  a  breed  by 
themselves." 

Her  ideas  to  him  sounded  terrific  and  abominable.  Yet 
under  mountains  of  evil-speaking  and  enmity,  she  con- 
cealed a  contemptuously  humane  heart.  If  she  knew 
herself,  it  was  only  up  to  a  point.  Stood  she  ever  self- 
convicted  of  an  act  that  went  beyond  her  theory  of  limita- 
tions she  would  scold  herself  with  angry  repetition,  and 
would  endeavour  to  eradicate  the  weakness  by  an  indul- 
gence of  unreasonable  animosity  in  some  other  direction. 
Thus,  if  she  pardoned  a  stableman  for  drink  one  day,  she 


APOLOGIES    TO    LADY    PETWYN    211 

would  probably  give  her  cook  notice  the  next.  She 
humoured  herself  infinitely  in  thinking  proudly  of  her 
vices,  and  boasted  childishly  of  things  she  should  have 
been  ashamed  of.  She  claimed  to  have  taught  her  butler 
to  be  honest  with  the  wine,  by  throwing  at  his  head  a 
bottle  of  inferior  quality  which  had  come  up  for  her  con- 
sumption. 

"  At  his  head,"  was  her  word  for  it ;  actually,  she  had 
pushed  the  offending  vintage  off  the  table.  This  had 
happened  in  the  first  days  of  her  widowhood  ;  it  taught  the 
servants'  hall  that  a  knowledge  of  wine  had  not  departed 
from  the  establishment  with  the  defunct  Sir  Cooper. 

In  wrath  her  tongue  became  abominable.  Tristram 
hearing  it  for  the  first  time  was  fairly  aghast.  Noticing 
that  he  winced,  she  dismissed  her  victim,  to  say  in  boastful 
apology :  "  It  took  me  ten  years  to  beat  Sir  Cooper  at  his 
own  game,  and  I  can't  afford  to  drop  the  habit  now  I've 
learned  it.  I  might  marry  again  —  we  women  are  all 
fools !  " 

She  had  so  dismissed  ceremony  from  their  relations 
that  Tristram  was  able  to  answer :  "  Don't  marry  old 
Haycraft,  then,  or  you  will  find  yourself  a  backward 
student !  " 

She  pretended  a  wish  to  have  details  of  so  rare  a  vocab- 
ulary. 

"  He's  gorgeous !  "  declared  the  Tramp,  and  there  let 
the  matter  rest,  without  sample. 

She  was  so  assiduous  in  showing  off  her  vices  to  the 
youth  that  the  wonder  was  he  got  through  them  and  was 
able  to  like  her. 

There  was  no  doubt  he  did.  She  put  him  to  the  test 
and  found  him  one  who  would  not  cringe  for  her  favour. 
At  the  second  word  of  her  worst,  he  got  up  and  left  her, 
and  believed  in  doing  so  that  he  had  made  the  breach 
between  them  irrevocable.    A  groom  overtook  him  at  the 


212  A     MODERN     ANTAEUS 

gate,  bearing  him  a  scribbled  apology.  She  greeted  his 
return,  which  was  immediate,  with  the  words,  "  That's 
the  last  time  I  grovel  to  you,  young  man !  Explanations 
are  not  in  my  line.     You  must  get  to  understand  me !  " 

"  Still "  said  Tristram. 

"  Oh  yes !  "  growled  the  old  scold ;  "  you  may  either 
stop  up  your  ears,  or  run  out  of  the  room.  But  you  will 
please  to  come  back  again  without  expecting  me  to  run 
after  you !  " 

She  asked  him  then  why  he  had  come  back. 

"  Because  I  like  you,"  said  the  youth. 

"  Like  ?    What  is  there  to  like  ?  " 

"  When  I  know  that,  I'll  tell  you." 

"  At  present,  then,  you  like  me  as  a  conundrum?  " 

"  Put  it  that  way,  ma'am,  if  you  will." 

"  My  dear,"  she  said,  "  what  I  suffer  from  is  a  hot  head 
and  a  cold  heart ;  and  a  tongue  that  gets  wagged  by  the 
two  of  them." 

He  told  her  at  last  that  she  was  like  Queen  Elizabeth, 
and  supposed  that  his  affection  for  her  must  have  a  histor- 
ical basis.  He  found  her  the  next  day  reading  Green's 
History.  She  threw  the  book  at  him,  and  asked  —  Did  he 
expect  rigadoons  from  her  in  her  old  age? 

"  And  I  never  patted  a  young  man's  neck  in  my  life !  " 
she  protested. 

It  was  curious  that  at  opposite  poles  she  and  the  Sage 
had  the  same  gift ;  they  could  make  him  laugh  at  them, 
and  like  them  all  the  better  as  a  consequence.  Something 
youthful  lay  crusted  in  both  :  to  each  of  them  he  felt  it 
possible  to  confess  his  follies  —  with  very  different  re- 
sults. Lady  Petwyn  might  be  depended  on  for  a  jocular 
encouragement  of  them ;  the  Sage  for  extravagant  blame. 
Yet  in  their  secret  estimate  of  him  their  views  reversed : 
the  lady  considered  him  a  delicious  sweet  fool,  gloriously 
headstrong;  the  Sage  had  hopes  that,  could  he  but  beat 


APOLOGIES    TO    LADY    PETWYN    213 

the  rebel  out  of  his  composition,  he  would  grow  up  to 
deserve  Doris's  love  for  him.  He  held  a  letter  of  hers 
received  but  a  few  days  before  her  death,  requiring  of 
him  a  promise  ;  the  answer  to  it  had  reached  dead  hands. 

Moralists  might  guess  that  at  this  point  they  saw 
Tristram  divided  between  his  two  angels  of  good  and 
evil :  and  that  the  question  was  henceforth  to  be,  which  of 
them  should  have  the  mastery.  But  complex  influences 
seldom  divide  their  forces  with  such  simplicity.  Had 
Tristram  always  followed  Lady  Petwyn's  advice  when 
she  seriously  gave  it,  this  tale  might  have  remained  a 
comedy. 

The  energetic  dame  industriously  waylaid  the  youth's 
goings.  Meeting  him  in  the  roads,  she  would  dismount 
a  groom  to  have  his  company;  and  presently  had  all  the 
will  to  present  to  him  the  particular  mount  he  favoured, 
but  that  to  continue  it  as  a  loan  brought  him  more  cer- 
tainly day  by  day  to  her  stables. 

When  the  call  to  attend  his  father  to  Sawditch  on 
certain  days  of  the  week  took  Tristram  off  for  the  whole 
day,  he  came  over  to  Hill  Alwyn  to  secure  an  early  morn- 
ing canter,  at  an  hour  when  the  grooms  were  still  rubbing 
their  eyes.  Lady  Petwyn  growled  like  a  dog  defrauded 
by  its  bone.  "  You  do  that  to  avoid  me,"  she  snapped. 
"  I'll  be  even  with  you !  "  and  the  next  morning  was  true 
to  her  word. 

He  assured  her  it  was  the  dullest  of  dull  reasons  that 
drove  him  to  be  so  unseasonably  early,  and  heaved  a  tre- 
mendous sigh,  naming  the  trade  he  was  being  put  to. 

"  Come  out  of  it,  and  I'll  allow  you  two  hundred  a 
year !  "  was  the  bait  she  threw  him. 

He  shook  his  head  dolefully,  "  I  am  paying  debts,"  he 
said,  not  knowing  how  doubly  true  was  the  remark ; 
"  and  besides " 

The  truth  was  he  could  not  tell  what  he  wanted  to  be : 


2i4  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

could  name  no  calling',  unless  that  of  water-finder,  whose 
duties  held  colours  of  attraction  to  him.  "  A  jockey,  I 
might  be,"  he  jokingly  suggested,  after  he  had  taken  cred- 
itable part  in  a  steeple-chase  into  which  Lady  Petwyn  had 
urged  the  amateur  riders  of  her  side  of  the  county. 

But  from  a  free  choice  he  was  subtly  debarred,  hardly 
realising  as  yet  how  fast  circumstances  were  involving 
him. 

His  father  behind  his  back  owned  to  have  become  proud 
of  him,  and  hoped  by  an  indulgent  extension  of  favours 
to  make  his  son's  office-stool  with  its  present  drudgery 
seem  to  him  the  ladder  to  a  throne.  Could  he  have  given 
it  the  semblance  of  a  saddle  or  a  spring-board  it  had  been 
more  to  the  purpose. 

"The  Pater  says  I  have  a  business  head!"  Tristram 
grumbled  to  Marcia.  "  I  have,  if  an  ache  is  the  sign  of 
it!" 

Mr.  Gavney  began  to  look  out  sanguinely  over  present 
embarrassments.  Some  capital,  it  was  true,  would  pres- 
ently be  imperatively  needed ;  he  had  staved  off  the  day ; 
Tristram  on  his  coming  of  age  could  set  the  deficiency 
right.  Thereafter  the  firm  would  go  forward  with  en- 
larged capacities,  and  with  a  higher  standing,  becoming 
perhaps  something  more  than  prosperous.  The  cloth- 
merchant's  eye  went  over-sea  to  focus  visions  of  future 
greatness ;  he  hoped  some  day  to  see  merchandise  of  his 
own  sailing  to  nil  parts  of  the  habitable  globe.  When 
his  trade  had  reached  that  size  the  meanness  of  the  mate- 
rial would  be  forgotten  ;  the  firm  would  stand  so  high 
that  glory,  not  shame,  would  be  reflected  upon  him.  His 
heart  glowed  over  the  prospect ;  well  might  he  believe  that 
so  much  enthusiasm  at  his  age  did  honour  to  his  paternal 
instincts.  This  was  for  Tristram.  He  should  have  ad- 
vantages which  for  lack  of  time  had  not  been  his  father's 
before  him ;  he  should  snuff  the  marts  of  the  world,  an 


APOLOGIES    TO    LADY    PETWYN    215 

air  infected  with  the  wealth  of  nations ;  not  trade,  com- 
merce —  its  larger  aspect  —  should  reveal  to  him  the 
great  workings  of  capital  and  enterprise.  London  should 
be  the  place  then  for  the  bringing  of  desultory  energies  to 
their  perfect  use. 

In  these  calculations  Beresford  Gavney  did  not  forget 
society.  He  intended  that  his  son  should  take  a  place 
within  that  circle  at  whose  vaguely-defined  threshold  he 
himself  had  stood  many  years  discontentedly  awaiting 
fuller  recognition.  He  did  not  urge  his  claim  ;  in  his  own 
family  he  saw  it  becoming  justified.  Lady  Petwyn,  for 
instance,  had  not  called,  yet  had  chosen  to  become  intimate 
with  his  son.  Pie  was  at  pains  to  conceal  the  gratification 
it  gave  him  :  even  appeared  indifferent  when  the  boy  spoke 
of  her  —  as  much  as  to  say,  "  In  your  leisure  you  choose 
your  own  society ;  you  are  a  free  agent."  Yet  to  his  wife 
he  professed  himself  puzzled  that  Lady  Petwyn,  wishing 
to  befriend  their  son  as  she  evidently  did,  should  still 
omit  the  interchange  of  conventional  amenities  with  his 
parents. 

"  I  am  told  she  calls  nowhere,"  said  his  wife.  "  Some 
think  it  is  because  she  will  not  be  seen  on  foot ;  they  say 
she  is  quite  hunched  when  she  walks  across  a  room." 

If  Tristram  was  without  apprehension  of  the  fact  that 
the  great  lady's  acquaintance  with  him  alone  made  invid- 
ious comparisons,  another  of  the  family  was  not.  Marcia, 
he  found,  would  not  accompany  him  on  to  the  private 
paths  of  the  estate. 

'  The  keys  were  to  you,  Tramp,"  she  said ;  "  to  nobodv 
else." 

"  But  I  used  to  go  with  Ray." 

"  Oh,  you !  yes :  you  can  do  those  things ;  I  am  only  a 
conventional  young  woman,  and  I  won't  be  seen  trespass- 
ing." 

Tristram  fidgeted :  he  liked  now  to  have  Marcia  with 


216  A    MODERN     ANTAEUS 

him  when  a-foot.  Ray  had  at  last  passed  the  necessary 
entrance  test  and  gone  up  to  Oxford,  so  for  comradeship 
the  Tramp  was  thrown  back  on  women-folk.  Here,  for 
an  insufficient  reason,  was  Marcia  denying  him  the  pleas- 
ure of  her  company. 

Having  a  puzzle  on  his  mind  hints  of  it  showed  in  his 
speech  one  day.  He  asked  Lady  Petwyn  bluntly  whether 
the  keys  which  had  been  sent  to  the  Valley  House  were 
only  for  him.  '  Marcia,"  he  said,  "  won't  use  them,  and 
says  they  are  not  intended  for  any  one  but  me." 

:'  So  you  want  that  translated  into  plain  English,  do 
you  ?  "  enquired  the  lady.  '  It  means  first  and  foremost 
that  Miss  Marcia  disapproves  of  me ;  secondly,  that  she's 
jealous  of  me;  and  thirdly,  that  my  manners  as  a  neigh- 
bour are  detestable.  So  were  yours  formerly  ;  that  is  why 
we  get  on  with  each  other  now  we  are  reconciled.  Very 
well,  the  matter  shall  have  my  attention." 

Two  days  later  there  was  joy  in  Mr.  Beresford  Gavney's 
breast ;  Lady  Petwyn  had  left  cards  in  person  at  the  Val- 
ley House.  At  that  moment  the  merchant  would  have 
gone  to  the  inconvenient  trouble  and  expense  of  stabling 
a  horse  for  his  son's  use,  had  Lady  Petwyn  carried  out 
her  half- formed  project  of  sending  one. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 


LADY    PETWYN  S    PAST 


'  I  *HE  world  is  slow  to  recognise  romance  out  of  its 
accustomed  grooves.  Youth  woos  maid,  the  spring- 
time of  two  lives  rush  together,  Nature  in  an  outbreak 
of  extravagance  looses  on  them  more  happiness  than 
ever  mortal  could  claim  by  right ;  and  at  once  the  over- 
rewarded  creatures  are  made  the  darlings  of  popular  sen- 
timent. The  world  becomes  green  listening  to  protesta- 
tions of  eternal  fidelity,  which  sober  sense  knows  to  be 
false ;  for  the  joy  of  a  season  must  express  itself  from  the 
topmost  of  its  vocabulary,  and  should  the  lover  of  a  day 
swear  a  less  word  than  "  forever  "  in  urging  his  suit,  he 
were  untrue  to  the  emotion  of  a  moment  that  carries  in  it 
the  semblance  of  eternity.  The  disillusioned  listen  to  the 
overflowings  of  this  natural  hyperbole  and  fall  to  illusion 
once  more.  This  pair  of  lovers,  though  all  the  millions 
paired  since  the  world  began  have  stopped  short  of  their 
promise,  this  pair,  we  say,  shall  attain  their  ideal,  and  jus- 
tify that  greenness  of  the  human  eye  that  springs  not  of 
jealousy. 

And  if  the  natural  base  of  all  this  beauty  be  Nature's 
claim  that  the  sexes  shall  meet  and  propagate,  why  does 
so  slight  a  shifting  of  the  desire  make  it  such  worlds 
away,  and  discover  in  the  race  so  many  callous  or  thought- 
less beings  ready  to  laugh  at  passion  that  has  missed  the 
blossoming  season  ?     The  longing  of  the  old  maid  for  a 

217 


218  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

son  to  her  barren  body  at  the  lonely  closing-in  of  her  life, 
is  surely  as  tender  a  testimonial  to  bitter  Mother  Nature 
as  any  the  maiden  can  give  under  seal  of  her  lover's  lips. 
Nay,  it  is  the  very  phcEnix  of  love  rising  out  of  the  ashes 
and  disillusions  of  youth.  Life  is  full  enough  of  things 
more  deserving  of  ridicule  than  the  passion  with  which 
the  crabbed,  the  spoiled,  and  the  aged,  go  back  and  seek 
to  reconstruct  or  retrieve  the  past. 

Some  such  longing  had  seized  on  the  stiff  gnarled  body 
and  jaded  mind  of  Lady  Petwyn,  at  lighting  on  one  who 
accepted  her  favour  for  the  simple  and  sufficient  reason  of 
a  cordial  liking;  who  had  no  fear  of  her  frowns,  and 
could  to-morrow  be  independent  as  air,  were  her  caprice 
to  bid  him  back  to  the  place  he  had  come  from. 

She  studied  him,  puzzled  to  know  wherein  lay  the  at- 
traction. "  Had  you  been  my  son,"  she  owned,  "  I  should 
have  bullied  you  out  of  the  very  thing  I  like  you  for  be- 
ing !  "  Maybe,  for  all  the  difference  in  their  years,  instinct 
taught  him  to  see  in  the  debonair  motions  of  his  youth, 
the  shadow  of  the  thing  she  had  sought  and  missed  as  a 
match  to  her  own  strong  energies. 

She  wooed  him,  wished  to  have  at  once  the  spoiling 
and  the  making  of  him  in  her  own  hands,  tried  him  with 
her  humours,  cajoled  him  with  her  favours,  resented  his 
independence,  yet  admired  it  in  the  same  breath.  One 
day  she  made  a  pretext  for  cutting  off  his  rides,  declaring 
that  he  had  lamed  one  horse  and  over-ridden  another, 
proving  himself  not  to  be  trusted  with  them  alone ;  and 
found  him  just  as  happy  on  foot,  and  as  friendly.  She 
became  jealously  convinced  that  bribes  would  not  bring 
him  any  nearer  to  her  affections,  and  was  all  the  more 
flattered  and  taken  to  see  him  unaffected  by  her  vile 
moods  and  occasional  moroseness  of  demeanor.  "  The 
cunning  dog  makes  a  point  of  understaying  his  welcome," 
she  told  herself,  to  explain  her  irritated  liking  for  his  com- 


LADY     PETWYN'S     PAST  219 

pany.  It  was  quite  an  unconscious  play  of  tact  on  Tris- 
tram's part ;  he  believed  himself  merely  quick  to  follow  the 
signals  of  the  lady  herself. 

One  day  he  came  upon  her  sitting-  among  heaps  of 
musty  documents.  A  post-mortem  mood  had  seized  on 
her;  she  had  a  presentiment,  she  told  him,  that  she  was 
going  to  die  —  prayed  it  might  be  with  the  hounds  dur- 
ing the  coming  winter :  and  was  mindful  to  spare  her  ex- 
ecutors unnecessary  labour.  "  If  to  save  trouble  were  all." 
she  remarked,  "  I  might  as  well  put  a  match  to  every  se- 
curity I  possess,  and  die  intestate ;  then  cousins  and  the 
law  could  wrangle  it  out  at  leisure.  Executors  are  usually 
one's  friends :  heirs,  not  necessarilv :  none  of  mine  are ! 
There  are  Cooper-Petwyns,  and  Coopers,  who  seem  to 
think  because  I  was  cooped  up  with  one  of  them  for  all 
the  best  years  of  my  life  and  bought  up  embarrassed  prop- 
erty, that  I  owe  it  back  to  them.  '  It  should  stay  in  the 
family,'  is  the  phrase  they  have  in  their  greedy  mouths. 
I  tell  them  they  may  buy  it  back  if  they  want  to.  Their 
grievance  is  that  Sir  Cooper  reaped  the  benefit  of  a  broken 
entail,  if  to  pay  one's  creditors  by  the  sale  of  one's  patri- 
mony be  indeed  a  benefit ! 

'  Burn  that,  and  that,  and  that !  "  she  gave  Tristram 
dusty  bundles  to  throw  to  the  flames. 

Presently  a  curious  perturbation  came  over  her  face, 
as  she  crackled  her  fingers  on  a  bunch  of  notes  tied  up 
with  pack-thread ;  self-disgust  seemed  to  predominate. 

"Am  I  into  rav  dotasre?"  she  exclaimed.     "  It  would 


ife* 


seem  so.  Here  have  I  been  hoarding  a  budget  of  my 
Skeleton's  letters  for  over  seventeen  years  without  know- 
ing it !  " 

She  glanced  her  eye  through  one  of  them. 

"  Poor  ghost,"  she  murmured.  "  How  he  gibbers ! 
Ghosts  I  can't  stand ;  they  whine  too  much  about  a  future 
life,  invoking  me  to  be  Christian  and  charitable.      My 


220  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

charity  burned  a  large  enough  hole  in  my  pocket  when  it 
had  him  to  deal  with.  Thieves  got  at  it  then  ;  it's  moth 
and  rust  now.  Help  us !  What  a  liar  the  fellow  was : 
writes  he  knows  I  have  a  kind  heart !  He  knew  exactly 
the  contrary,  but.  that  was  Bones  all  over :  —  made  love  to 
me  when  he  was  dying  because  he  wanted  a  particular 
brand  to  which  I  had  the  key,  and  cursed  me  in  his  last 
will  and  testament !  made  a  will  to  do  it,  I  imagine :  for  he 
had  no  money  to  leave.  That's  the  man  my  memory's  got 
to  deal  with!  I'm  widow  to  that,  my  dear;  my  '  Lady- 
ship '  I  got  from  him  ! 

'  When  he  did  his  duty  finally,  and  died.  I  asked  the 
doctor  how  long  it  would  take  him  to  become  bone.  Med- 
ical science  gave  me  a  date.  After  he  was  turned  into  a 
bone-man,  forgiveness  of  him  became  possible !  And  yet 
his  Christian  relatives  reproached  me  for  putting  him  in 
an  earth-to-earth  coffin  ;  cremation  wasn't  to  be  had  in 
those  days.  Lord!  what  moles  we  all  are  with  our  preju- 
dices !  You  know  now  why  I  call  him  '  Bones  ' ;  it  strips 
him  of  his  vices.  Can  you  imagine  a  skeleton  taking  too 
much  to  drink,  for  instance?    No,  it's  a  mercy !  " 

Tristram's  sensitiveness  showed  a  shrinking  from  such 
a  squalid  inspection  of  the  past.  The  old  dame's  tongue 
turned  a  sharp  corner. 

'  I'm  going  to  tell  you  a  love-story,"  said  she.  "  That 
man  kicked  to  death  a  friend  of  mine,  and  I  broke  my  leg 
jumping  too  fast  out  of  window  to  get  at  him.  Provi- 
dence seems  to  have  stamped  on  the  wrong  foot  that  time  ; 
eh?  There's  one  of  the  things  I  have  to  think  him  out  of 
the  flesh  for,  for  comfort's  sake.  This  is  not  the  love- 
story,  but  it  comes  round  to  it.  Bones  used  to  beat  his 
own  dogs  every  day  and  all  day  long,  but  not  my  boy  — 
till  once.  That  day  I  heard  curses,  and  all  at  once  Billy 
give  a  cry.  I  knew  it  for  his.  out  of  all  others,  and  ran  — 
could  run,  I  tell  you,  in  those  days !    Out  of  window  I  saw 


LADY     PETWYN'S     PAST  221 

my  poor  beast  chained,  and  my  other  beast  in  top-boots 
kicking  him.  Murder's  a  quick  brew:  two  of  us  got  the 
infection.  Ever  you've  been  in  a  real  rage  you've  felt  you 
could  fly.  Anyway,  a  woman  before  she's  forty  has  her 
hallucinations  at  times.  That  was  mine.  In  reality  I 
came  smash.  There  was  I  along  the  cobble-stones ;  and, 
over  the  way,  butchery  by  all  the  fiends  !  Bones  was  doing 
it :  Billy,  staunch  beast,  tugging  at  his  chain  to  be  at  him. 
Soon  as  he  saw  me,  'twas  a  double  struggle :  —  he  to  get 
my  way,  I  to  get  his,  —  I  dragging  pain  along  with  me 
that  was  like  a  ton  of  mustard.  Down  goes  Billy  just  as 
I  got  to  him.  The  last  I  remembered  was  having  hold  of 
Bones's  hand  with  my  teeth  where  Billy  had  bitten  him 
just  before.  And  for  the  result  of  that  day's  work  Sir 
Cooper  had  to  do  without  an  heir. 

"  Five  years  I  shared  house  with  him  after  that.  Think 
of  it,  and  me  lame,  hobbling  with  that  thing  for  a  memory ! 
He  never  struck  me ;  I  waited  for  it ;  he  seemed  to  know 
why.  That's  how  it  is,  my  dear,  I  never  murdered  him. 
People  who  knew  what  he  was,  thought  me  a  model  of 
duty ;  and  when  I  die,  as  I've  made  no  provision  against 
it,  I  suppose  they  will  lay  me  alongside  of  Bones  with  all 
the  decorum  in  the  world.  Poor  Bones,  how  will  he  like 
it,  I  wonder !  " 

From  this  narrative  Tristram  gathered  for  the  first  time 
the  full  meaning  of  a  certain  tombstone  in  Little  Alwyn 
churchyard.  After  many  years  of  neglect  Lady  Petwyn 
had  one  day  set  herself  right  with  the  neighbourhood  by 
erecting  a  handsome  memorial  over  the  late  Baronet's  re- 
mains. That  had  been  done  within  Tristram's  own  brief 
memory.  He  remembered  the  wording  of  the  inscription, 
and  saw  now  its  underlying  significance. 


■ti 


'•'Here  rest,"  was  how  it  ran.  "the  bones  of  Sir  Cooper  Cooper 
Petwyn,  Bart.,  Lord  of  the  Manor  of  Alwyn,  sometime  Master  of 
the  Tavishire  Foxhounds,  Justice  of  the  Peace." 


222  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

Date  of  death  and  date  of  erection  followed  ;  not  a  word 
of  sentiment  or  untruth  ;  only  the  ponderous  eloquence  of 
costly  stone  to  say  whether  this  poor  dust  had  not  once 
its  value  in  men's  eyes. 

"  And  now,"  went  on  her  ladyship,  "  how  did  I  come  to 
marry  him?  It's  a  life  of  me  you  will  have  to  hear."  So, 
then  and  there,  Tristram  heard  from  hard  withered  lips, 
a  brave  lady's  love-story. 

The  only  love  her  gaoler  of  a  heart  had  ever  let  go  to 
man  had  won  freedom  behind  sound  of  galloping  hoofs 
on  a  road  leading  she  knew  not  whither.  The  gallant, 
fine  gentleman,  pauper,  and  rogue,  all  rolled  into  one,  who 
was  her  companion  and  tempter  in  that  exploit,  had  beheld 
her  first  in  a  church  pew,  ranked  with  the  demure  misses 
in  their  teens,  of  an  aristocratic  boarding  school;  and, 
more  dazzled  by  her  high  darting  glance  than  by  her  for- 
tune —  for  'twas  whispered  there  sat  an  heiress  —  had 
come,  a  stranger,  and  borne  her  off  under  the  full  stare  of 
day.  Adding  by  a  few  dextrous  strokes  ten  years  to  the 
ten  which  already  made  him  her  senior,  he  had  presented 
himself  in  a  post-chaise  white  with  the  dust  of  its  speed, 
bearing  a  missive  purporting  to  tell  of  a  father  dying  in 
apoplectic  state,  as  befitted  an  alderman. 

The  heiress  of  two  hundred  thousand  pounds  was  trust- 
ingly confided  to  a  man  without  a  penny  that  was  not 
borrowed,  by  a  head  mistress  who  had  the  merit  of  know- 
ing a  gentleman  when  she  saw  him. 

A  mile  from  the  start,  being  a  man  of  feeling,  the  gal- 
lant dried  the  young  girl's  eyes  with  a  broad  hint  of  her 
father's  safety.  He  bade  her  look  at  the  bright  world  that 
flew  past,  and  draw  full  breath  at  being  out  in  it.  Did 
she  wish  to  return  ? 

"  Where  am  I  going?  "  she  asked  him. 

Exactly  wherever  she  liked,  he  told  her,  —  to  Scotland, 
whose  marriages  were  more  made  by  Heaven  than  were 


LADY     PETWYN'S     PAST  223 

England's  for  preference.  He  promised  her  his  heart, 
and  white  heather  instead  of  orange  blossom,  yet  declared 
that  the  decision  of  the  matter  rested  with  her.  She 
tested  him  once,  bidding  him  put  the  chaise  about.  The 
thing  was  done  promptly.  The  sight  of  the  school  roofs, 
and  the  sound  of  the  bell  at  that  moment  giving  harsh 
summons  to  drudgery  from  which  she  was  free,  made  her 
reverse  the  order.  They  arrived  very  late  at  the  inn  which 
was  to  be  their  first  resting-place.  The  lover  had  insisted, 
in  spite  of  postilions ;  had  even  allowed  himself  to  appear 
in  fear  of  pursuit.  They  roused  a  sleeping  house ;  and 
the  cause  of  his  solicitude  presently  appeared  in  a  respect- 
able waiting-woman  whom  he  had  engaged  beforehand  to 
keep  guard  over  a  young  girl's  reputation.  She  received 
her  mistress  into  safe-keeping,  and  was  able  to  give  evi- 
dence after,  which  was  the  undoing  of  the  whole  scheme. 
"  Heigho !  "  was  the  poor  lady's  regretful  comment  on 
that  incongruity  in  the  midst  of  an  otherwise  romantic 
and  promising  episode. 

The  northward  miles  flew  all  too  briefly ;  separation 
followed  hard.  After  an  unchurched  clinching  before 
witnesses,  the  lover  handed  back  his  wedded  wife  to  the 
pursuing  and  enraged  relatives,  and  went  gaily  off  to  en- 
dure the  legal  penalty  for  abduction  which  he  had  in- 
curred. Any  church  ceremony,  if  they  wished  for  it, 
could  wait  his  return  to  liberty.  The  girl-wife  swore  faith 
to  his  face  and  behind  his  back.  It  was  noticeable  that 
she  met  the  parental  eye  without  blushing.  Enquiry  was 
started ;  the  waiting-woman  was  questioned ;  the  gallant 
himself  made  a  courteous  avowal  that  he  had  postponed 
till  a  more  ceremonious  occasion  the  assertion  of  his 
indubitable  rights.  He  kissed  his  hand  metaphorically  to 
the  mistress  of  his  heart,  retiring  behind  iron  doors  for 
the  space  of  two  years.  The  period  was  long  enough  to 
give  the  lady's  family  time  to  act  on  hopes  destined  cruelly 


224  A     MODERN     ANTAEUS 

to  be  realised.  Supported  by  certain  certificates,  proof 
up  to  the  hilt,  a  private  bill  was  brought  into  Parliament 
and  passed,  annulling  the  fly-away  marriage.  1  icing  a 
minor  the  poor  girl  was  left  without  voice  in  the  matter, 
and  deprived  willy-nilly  of  the  man  of  her  heart.  Pathet- 
ically ignorant  to  the  last  as  to  how  her  lover's  generous 
,  scruples  had  betrayed  her,  she  returned  to  school  and 
spinsterhood,  and  became  five  years  afterwards  the  wife 
of  Sir  Cooper  Petwyn,  a  man  willing,  for  the  sake  of  com- 
pensations, to  take  over  the  victim  of  a  dead  romance. 
Thus  Lady  Petwyn  went  to  her  living  tomb. 

She  told  Tristram  the  tale  with  a  dry  relish,  ironic  to 
the  last :  yet  with  her  own  fate  had  not  quite  reached  the 
end  of  her  story.  After  her  parent's  death,  being  then 
tied  up  in  decent  matrimony,  she  became  the  mistress  of 
her  own  property,  and  was  minded  to  override  such 
things  as  private  acts  of  Parliament.  Thus  she  finished 
her  story :  — 

'  I  saw  myself  free  to  be  my  own  mistress  —  and  his. 
A  year  or  two  of  Bones  had  sufficed  to  make  me  feel 
under  no  bonds.  Off  I  went  to  discover  my  true  mate; 
hunted,  and  found  him.  I  had  no  illusion  or  romance 
then.  Yet  there  was  a  mutual  something  between  us.  I 
knew  to  my  cost  that  there  was  loyalty  in  him.  Poor 
rogue!  to  pass  the  time,  perhaps  to  rid  himself  of  a 
momentary  embarrassment,  he  had  married  a  mere  any- 
body, and  between  them  the  precarious  couple  had  come 
by  a  baby.  The  event  proved  that  no  life  lay  in  it.  I 
never  saw  so  disappointed  a  face  as  his  when  he  found 
what  he  had  missed  for  lack  of  a  little  patience.  Words 
stopped :  we  recognised  each  other's  meaning :  seeing 
that  new  bonds  were  uppermost,  silence  was  the  best  med- 
icine for  our  chagrin. 

"  I  saw  the  wife:  a  good  little  thing,  cut  out  to  be  the 
drudge  of  a  brilliant  ne'er-do-weel.    His  truth  to  her  was 


LADY     PETWYN'S     PAST  225 

foolish  and  touching ;  there  was  so  little  need  for  it ;  and 
he  pitied  himself  so  hugely ! 

"  I  never  saw  them  again ;  but  it  pleased  me  to  dribble 
out  a  dole  to  that  poor  domestic  squaw  about  which  he 
was  to  know  nothing.  It  gave  him  an  easier  conscience 
to  see  that,  whatever  he  did  or  didn't  do  for  her,  she  had 
food  enough  for  her  mouth,  and  a  roof  over  her  head.  He 
ambled  about,  wit,  buffoon,  and  odd-corner  man  to  gay 
circles ;  I  don't  know  what  he  did  to  avoid  making  a 
living,  I  should  doubt  whether  he  kept  honest.  It  took 
him  twenty  years  to  catch  his  death,  the  one  thing  he 
proved  slow  over.  When  he  was  dying  in  his  own  way, 
I  suppose  his  wife  got  soft-hearted  and  blabbed  my  name. 
A  child  had  turned  up  to  them  absurdly  just  at  the  last, 
and  the  poor  woman's  betrayal  of  my  finger  in  their  pie 
set  him  naming  the  thing  after  me.  She  sent  me  word  of 
it  in  black  edges  —  I  was  a  widow  and  a  godmother  in 
one ;  also  a  puppy  he  had  the  training  of.  It  came  by  his 
last  orders,  with  his  grateful  respects,  I  was  to  be  told. 
That  was  poor  Billy :  the  dog  only  survived  his  master 
two  years.  Bones !  bones  !  bones  !  there's  three  of  them 
to  think  about !  " 

Tristram  had  not  a  face  he  could  decently  show.  She 
looked  at  him  curiously.  "  I'm  glad  it  can  make  some- 
body snivel,"  she  said ;  "  it  never  did  me !  To  me  it's  all 
dead  history;  there  isn't  an  ounce  of  sentiment  left  in 
me." 

And  Tristram,  with  his  heart  raging  for  the  pity  of  the 
romance  which  had  fallen  from  those  dry  lips,  was  ready 
with  youth's  credulity  to  take  her  word  for  it ! 

He  had  some  reason  to  believe  in  her  general  hardness 
of  heart :  he  had  talked  to  her  of  Cob's  Hole,  a  disgrace 
to  any  property,  and  had  been  scornfully  chaffed  for  his 
pains.  It  was  then  she  had  bid  him  quit  scavenging. 
"  Those  hovels,"  said  she,  "  are  merely  what  the  people 
2 


226  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

have  made  of  them.  Were  I  to  spend  two  thousand 
pounds  and  set  up  model  dwellings  in  their  places,  before 
three  years  were  over  they  would  be  human  pig-sties  once 
more.  When  your  labourer  lives  less  like  a  beast  it 
will  be  time  enough  to  think  of  housing  him."  That  was 
her  last  word  as  regards  practical  reform ;  the  rest  was 
chaff  of  Tristram,  high-horsed  on  theories  drawn  from 
the  books  of  his  beloved  Sage.  "  I  hear  that  your  source 
of  wisdom  has  gone  dotty,"  she  said  ruthlessly. 

The  Tramp,  hearing  rumour  of  it  elsewhere,  went  over 
to  the  dear  man's  abode,  and  was  told  of  illness  in  the 
room  over  his  head ;  the  faithful  housekeeper's  grief 
grew  fresh  as  she  spoke  of  it.  The  boy  begged  leave  to 
go  and  stand  by  the  Sage's  door  for  a  moment.  He 
called  through  softly,  sending  his  love,  and  heard  within 
a  frail  voice  that  rambled.  It  seemed  to  wither  and 
make  unsubstantial  all  his  raw  dreams  for  the  help  of 
his  fellow-man,  flawing  the  structure  of  his  first  scheme 
of  morality. 

Trudging  home  tired  and  dispirited  from  that  errand, 
he  got  cheer  in  meeting  Lizzie  Haycraft  carrying  her 
week's  laundry  down  to  the  Vicarage.  She  bore  it  on 
her  head  proudly,  high-stepping,  a  dark  gipsy  beauty ; 
other  girls  laughed  at  her  as  she  went  by,  for  so  outland- 
ish a  mode  of  carrying  her  burden.  To  Tristram  it  gave 
her  so  fine  an  air,  he  would  not  spoil  it  by  any  offer  to 
share  the  load.  It  satisfied  his  theories  that  England 
could  still  produce  such  women  from  her  lowliest  classes ; 
by  the  strength  of  such  maidenhood  she  could  still  be  a 
mother  of  nations. 

Lizzie  told  him  of  Ray's  unexpected  return  home. 
Hurrying  to  the  unlooked-for  encounter  he  found  his 
friend  gloriously  bronzed  and  well,  laid  up  with  an  athletic 
malady,  his  arm  in  a  sling,  and  defiantly  cheerful  under 
discomfort.  Three  weeks'  anticipation  of  the  term's  end 
seemed  good  pay  for  a  put-out  shoulder. 


LADY     PETWYN'S     PAST  227 

During  the  companionable  weeks  following,  Marcia  fell 
into  line,  consenting  even  to  be  one  in  excursions  through 
the  Hill  Alwyn  demesne.  Tristram,  perceiving  that  Ray 
was  no  longer  one  of  her  absurd  jealousies,  sucked  the 
sweets  of  this  new  harmony,  for  coldness  among  his 
friends  was  a  slight  to  his  happy  instinct  for  selection. 
Pleased  to  see  that  one  shadow  had  passed,  he  was  aware 
that  Lady  Petwyn  still  lay  outside  Marcia's  pale  of 
charity.  It  was  an  amusing  situation,  therefore,  when 
one  day  the  dame  rode  in  on  them,  nodded  to  the  two 
youths,  and  reaching  out  a  cordial  hand  took  Marcia's, 
saying,  "So  you  are  the  Tramp's  sister?  We  must  be 
better  acquainted." 

All  the  way  home  Marcia  carried  in  her  eye  a  light  of 
opposition.  The  jealous  demon  it  seemed  was  not  dead 
in  her. 


CHAPTER  XIX 


A    FALL    RASHLY    REPENTED 


\  T  the  fag  end  of  a  three  months'  idleness  Raymond 
found  time  lying  heavily  on  his  hands.  Circum- 
stances deprived  him  of  the  companionship  which  had 
made  many  long  holidays  spin  merrily ;  the  Tramp  was 
away  with  mother  and  sister  tanning  himself  in  sea- 
breezes  and  the  wash  of  tides  that  brought  to  him  a 
memory  of  blue  eyes.  There,  on  a  sunny  slope  high  over 
the  bay,  Doris's  name  marked  the  place  of  her  enduring 
exile. 

Raymond  had  not  Tristram's  knack  of  busying  himself 
with  solitude,  and  now,  being  left  to  his  own  resources, 
the  dread  of  being  involved  in  parochial  interests  as  a 
preliminary  training  to  the  "  call  "  which  was  to  come 
upon  him  with  ordination,  kept  him  adrift  early  and  late 
from  the  paternal  roof. 

'  I  a  parson !  "  At  sound  of  the  church-bell  each 
morning  the  thought  shocked  him  out  of  sleep,  to  the 
knowledge  that  his  father  was  already  up  reciting  matins 
for  an  absent  parish.  The  parental  example  before  his 
eyes  made  him  shame-faced  over  his  intended  vocation ; 
yet  affection  compromised  him  into  silence.  Only  once 
had  he  broached  the  subject  directly,  in  order  to  express 
doubts  of  himself.  His  father  commended  them,  and 
passed  them  by.  Had  he,  was  the  main  question,  doubts 
that  touched  critically  to  the  root  of  things?    The  good, 

228 


A  FALL  RASHLY  REPENTED   229 

equable  youth  could  declare  he  had  none,  and  so  answer- 
ing, saw  the  other's  mind  forthwith  set  at  rest.  Protesting 
himself  not  good  enough,  he  spoke  to  a  benevolent  blank 
wall.  "  The  best  of  us  are  unworthy,"  said  his  father, 
and  gave  him  a  priest's  book  of  private  devotions  to  keep 
by  his  pillow. 

The  two  were  excellent  friends,  but  shy  in  communi- 
cation with  each  other;  to  his  father  alone  of  all  men 
Raymond  was  conscious  of  deceit  and  eye-service.  He 
spoke  of  him  to  Tristram  with  easy  affection,  and  would 
have  run  to  the  world's  end  to  express  his  gratitude  for 
the  hundred  and  one  absent-minded  kindnesses  which 
had  smoothed  their  relations  through  life.  To  ''  keep 
square  "  was  to  Raymond's  mind  the  filial  debt  which  he 
owed,  but  his  endeavours  to  do  so  never  drew  him  into 
confidential  intimacy  with  the  one  whose  approval  he 
sought.  Thus  it  was  that,  when  the  neighbourhood  of 
Little  Alwyn  set  up  an  irritation  in  his  moral  system,  the 
poor  fellow,  with  his  father  at  hand,  discovered  himself 
lonely.  Tristram,  his  absurd  gallivanting  junior,  was 
the  medicine  his  soul  missed.  He  found  himself  quitting 
home  in  fits  and  starts  —  away  on  a  round  of  visits  to 
acquaintances  and  relatives,  only  to  return  in  haste.  For 
the  cure  to  be  of  any  effect  it  must  be  found  on  the  same 
spot  where  the  malady  existed.  Rushing  to  study  his 
disease  again  at  closer  quarters,  he  discerned  fresh 
symptoms  that  amazed  him  by  their  intensity.  In  the 
grip  of  fresh  irresolution,  he  shook  his  head  savagely ; 
cursed  himself  honestly  for  a  fool  and  a  worse  thing  still, 
and  with  that  salve  to  his  conscience  became  all  the  more 
entangled. 

Flight  up  to  town  itself  failed  also  to  give  the  counter- 
distraction  he  needed.  He  came  back  again  after  a  few 
days'  absence,  and  was  seen  gun  in  hand  roaming  through 
fields  where  little  game  was  to  be  had,  where  he  was  as 


230  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

like  to  find  mushrooms  as  partridges.  At  other  times  a 
yet  more  solitary  mood  caught  him :  he  took  to  roving 
Randogger  empty-handed,  an  idle  young  giant  with  no 
trees  to  fell. 

The  matter  was  quite  an  ordinary  one ;  but  the 
novelty  of  this,  the  first  attack,  set  Raymond  plunging. 
To  the  energies  of  a  big  breezy  machine  of  a  body,  that 
bore  him  involuntarily  to  strenuous  trials  of  a  sound 
constitution,  he  coupled  a  minimum  of  philosophy.  Days 
were  when  he  chased  like  a  hunter  on  a  false  trail,  fooled 
by  his  game;  then,  again,  would  protest  his  indifference 
and  fever  himself  under  forced  inactivity.  He  groaned 
and  set  his  teeth ;  held  on,  only  to  let  go ;  took  fire  once 
again  for  the  quest,  applied  bellows  to  the  flame,  flagged, 
beat  himself  with  opprobrious  epithets  —  and  was  where 
he  had  been  before.  Never  was  so  much  waste  to  so  little 
purpose,  as  in  this  his  first  conscious  fight  with  himself, 
one  wherein  English  youth  is  characteristically  lonely. 
Tristram  on  such  matters  had  already  his  high  theories, 
and  was  beginning  to  mouth  them  :  Ray  had  none.  The 
blood,  boots,  and  bones  of  beefy  manhood  took  him  afield 
early  and  late,  but  found  him  no  cure  beneath  the  sky. 

With  a  mingled  feeling  of  discontent  and  relief  he  saw 
himself  at  last  with  only  one  day's  more  freedom ;  he 
was  due  at  Oxford  again  on  the  morrow.  Having  but  a 
few  hours  in  hand  to  make  or  mar,  he  let  the  fever  in  his 
feet  carry  him  a  likely  way. 

Under  the  red  flanks  of  Quarry  Wood,  he  saw,  up 
amid  the  nut-bushes  that  crowned  the  impossible  ascent, 
an  abrupt  ruffling  among  the  leaves.  Before  long  he  had 
glimpsed  a  blue  print  gown,  and  an  arm  busy  crooking 
down  the  green  cluster.  So  sighting  the  very  thing  he 
had  sought,  he  called  it  Fate;  and  skirting  the  quarries 
to  a  place  where  footing  became  possible,  bolted  up  the 
ascent. 


A  FALL  RASHLY  REPENTED   231 

He  reached  the  crest  breathless,  and  pushed  his  way 
through  a  thick  screen  of  branches,  to  the  spot  where  he 
saw  the  picker  at  work.  Her  figure  stood  in  dusk  against 
the  clear  daylight  behind,  laced  over  by  a  lattice-like 
pattern  of  boughs  and  leaves.  Below  lay  a  wide  land- 
scape, wooded  and  pastoral,  already  tinting  into  golden 
decay ;  while  picture-like  between  the  bend  of  her  arm 
and  her  side,  showed  a  group  of  red  cattle  grazing  over 
a  distant  hill.  So  scaled  the  girl's  form  stood  out  large 
and  impressive  amid  its  surroundings ;  she  seemed  a 
Pomona  of  the  woods,  a  goddess  run  free,  making  the 
wilds  her  home. 

She  paid  no  heed  at  all  to  the  youth's  approach,  till 
the  disingenuous  "  Hullo,  Liz !  "  of  his  surprise  at  finding 
her  bade  her  know  that  her  solitude  was  invaded.  Thereat 
her  head  went  round  with  a  slow  gesture  of  unwelcoming 
recognition.  She  returned  his  gaze,  not  his  salutation ; 
and  while  her  hands  continued  to  ply  their  task,  went  on 
eyeing  him  with  a  quiet  air  of  enquiry. 

When  a  maid  is  nut-harvesting  a  man  may  lend  hands 
and  play  at  lightening  her  task  for  her.  However  much 
she  might  look  to  question  his  coming,  Raymond  showed 
no  embarrassment  in  holding  his  ground.  He  gathered, 
and  threw  his  handfuls  into  the  pouch  that  depended  from 
her  waist,  till  to  mix  fingers  over  the  same  bough  became 
the  natural  thing. 

"  It's  a  warm  day,  Liz !  "  he  observed  presently.  She 
answered,  "  Yes,"  and  picked  on.  If  his  choice  was  to 
stay,  hers  was  to  go  on  with  her  work.  As  she  moved 
independently  he  followed  her  from  bush  to  bush,  with  a 
mind  divided  between  restraint  and  avowal,  cudgelling 
his  wits  for  speech. 

"  Liz,"  he  began  at  length,  with  stress  of  tone,  "  I  saw 
you  from  down  yonder ;  that's  why  I  came.  You  didn't 
see  me?  " 


232  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

'  I  wasn't  looking  behind  me,"  she  answered. 

He  reached  across,  and  dropped  more  nuts  into  her 
pannier.  "You  know  I'm  off  to-morrow?"  he  pursued 
urgently. 

She  nodded.  '  They  told  me  that  when  I  was  over 
yesterday.  You'll  be  wanting  your  things  ready.  They'll 
be  down  the  first  thing  in  the  morning." 

"  You  know  I'm  not  thinking  about  them ! "  said 
Raymond. 

"  Maybe  not,"  replied  the  girl. 

"  You  know  what  I  am  thinking  of?  " 

"  Maybe  I  do:  I  don't  ask  'e  to  say?" 

"  I  will  say !  "  cried  Raymond,  getting  hot. 

"  As  you  please,"  she  answered,  and  plucked  fast  and 
hard.  She  worked,  smothered  under  nuttage  and  leaves, 
the  rough  clusters  rubbing  against  her  face.  Suddenly, 
the  youth's  hands  parted  the  covering,  "  Liz,  my  beauty ! 
Oh,  Liz!  "  he  cried,  his  lips  reaching  forward  for  hers. 
They  brushed  retreating  sweetness. 

For  a  moment  he  saw  only  her  reddened  visage  drawn 
back  angrily  with  a  gesture  of  disdain.  Unaccountably 
it  changed.  Her  eyes  opened  wide,  full  of  horrid  interro- 
gating surprise :  she  slipped  bodily  from  his  view ;  in  her 
place  he  beheld  sky.  The  bough  her  hand  had  released 
flew  across  and  fetched  him  a  buffet  over  the  face ;  it  left 
him  blind  for  an  instant  to  the  thing  that  was  happen- 
ing. 

Lizzie's  free-limbed  movement  quickened- by  anger  had 
carried  her  further  than  her  reckoning.  For  one  moment 
she  felt  herself  standing  clear  of  the  bushes ;  in  another 
her  feet  had  given  way  on  leathery  turf ;  she  was  down. 

Horrified,  but  without  a  cry,  she  found  herself  still  fall- 
ing. Her  hands  went  out  to  catch  at  grass  that  snapped 
or  came  away  whole  from  a  shallow  soil.  Nothing  checked 
the  decisive  impetus  of  her  descent.    Her  feet  came  over 


A  FALL  RASHLY  REPENTED   233 

a  sheer  edge ;  slipped  as  from  land ;  broke  the  crumbling 
rim  of  earth  that  held  them  to  life.  She  felt  herself  hor- 
ribly sucked  to  the  gulf  of  space  below ;  up  overhead  light 
nut  boughs  bobbed  in  the  wind,  airy  hand-holds,  not  one 
within  reach. 

So  Raymond  caught  sight  of  her,  already  half-lost,  on 
the  utter  verge  of  a  slope  where  his  feet  could  find  no 
standing.  Yet  had  the  attempt  been  rank  folly,,  he  would 
still  have  gone  after  her.  His  hand,  by  instinct,  got  hold 
of  the  one  chance  of  safety  for  both  —  the  forked  ends  of 
a  far-leaning  bough;  with  that  he  sprang  and  slid  the 
incline,  crying  out  to  her  to  lay  hands  on  him.  Not  a 
moment  too  soon  his  feet  shot  into  her  reach ;  she  caught 
him  by  ankle  and  shin,  and  clung,  on  the  very  edge  of 
death.  He  was  the  chain  that  held  her  to  life,  he !  —  she 
clasped  him  with  that  at  her  heart. 

With  limbs  sensitive  to  the  crisis  of  the  moment  she 
shook  horribly,  and  felt  bound,  powerless  to  stir.  Her 
knees  quailed  as  the  earth  gave  under  them. 

"  I  am  going  to  let  go !  "  she  murmured. 

His  voice  above  her  said,  "  No!  "  and  "  If  you  loose, 
Liz,  I  go  too !  " 

She  clung  the  harder  for  that,  but  could  not  move.  Her 
breast  tugged  for  air,  and  relapsed  in  harsh  sobbings  —  a 
pitiful  sound.  Ray  spoke  to  give  her  comfort,  hardly 
reckoning  what  he  said.     She  held  on  and  on. 

"Have  pluck,  then  you'll  feel  safer!"  he  told  her. 
"  You  are  quite  safe  so  long  as  you  hold  on  to  me." 
Presently  he  called,  "  Bring  yourself  a  little  higher,  then 
you  can  take  hold  of  my  hand !  " 

Her  mind  obeying  his  word  of  command  began  to  re- 
cover its  faculties.  She  looked  up  to  see  on  what  link 
he  and  she  hung  together  in  life,  and  recognised  by  how 
hazardous  a  thread  their  being  depended.  Raymond  lay 
on  his  back,  one  hand  stretched  over  his  head  had  hold  of 


234  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

a  few  leafy  stems ;  not  so  much  as  a  main  branch  held 
their  weight. 

The  sight  strung  her  to  action.  With  the  thought,  "  If 
one  of  those  give  way,  I  must  loose,"  she  struggled  to 
bring  her  knees  across  the  brink  of  soil  which  continually 
gave  under  them.  Succeeding  after  a  while,  and  relieved 
of  the  lower  strain,  her  hands  began  to  creep  upwards ; 
gaining  inch  by  inch,  at  last  she  held  him  by  the  knees. 
His  free  hand  reaching  down,  caught  and  gave  her  a  full 
hoist,  so  high  that  she  was  drawn  clear  of  the  abyss,  and 
could  dig  temporary  foothold  for  herself  in  the  recovered 
ground. 

After  that,  though  the  position  was  scarcely  a  com- 
fortable one  for  unstrung  nerves,  the  real  peril  was  over; 
she  needed  but  to  regain  strength  before  mounting  the 
remainder  of  the  slope  by  her  companion's  aid.  At  once 
she  became  weak  again,  and  lay  sobbing  with  her  head 
against  his  knee,  having  scarcely  the  will  to  move.  So 
long  as  she  had  hung  suspended  over  death  Raymond  had 
been  to  her  no  more  than  an  instrument,  a  rope  or  pole 
thrust  for  her  deliverance.  Now  her  hand  lay  in  his,  a 
mutual  thankfulness  thrilled  them  both;  shame  and  pride 
inextricably  mingled  made  bonds  betwreen  them.  She 
closed  her  eyes  in  a  vain  attempt  to  recover  possession  of 
her  soul. 

Raymond  began  to  speak ;  she  could  not  defend  her 
ears,  but  must  hear  her  deliverer  give  himself  all  the 
bitter  blame  he  deserved.  To  let  him  do  so  at  all  seemed 
to  her  now  ingratitude. 

To  his  prayer  for  forgiveness,  "  Don't  speak  of  it !  "  she 
whispered,  "  don't  ever !  " 

"  But  I  must !  "  he  insisted,  and  was  selfish,  pushing  his 
claim  for  the  word  to  be  spoken.  "  Just  think,  Liz,"  he 
urged,  "  supposing  you  had  gone,  it  would  have  been  my 
doing!" 


A  FALL  RASHLY  REPENTED   235 

"  But  you  didn't,  Mr.  Raymond ;  you  saved  my  life. 
Remember  that,  no  need  to  mind  about  the  rest!  It  was 
folly ;  you  didn't  mean  nothing." 

"  Eh,  my  girl,  but  I  did,"  said  Raymond,  unwilling  to 
have  that  particular  fault  made  light  of.  "  I  meant  a 
good  deal  —  a  deuced  sight  too  much,  and  that's  the 
truth !  " 

She  said  no  more  for  the  moment.  Raymond,  begin- 
ning to  realise  the  cramping  strain  of  his  position,  gave 
forth  a  groan  of  lenient  complaint.  Getting  his  hand  in 
under  her  arm,  "  Up  with  you !  "  he  cried,  "  I  am  tired 
of  dangling  here  like  a  pendulum.  So !  "  and  had  her  up 
on  the  slope  beside  him. 

They  sat  looking  over  the  place  which  a  few  moments 
before  had  promised  them  death.  The  sense  that  she  was 
but  just  safe  made  him  still  hold  her  fast.  He  got  sight 
then  for  the  first  time  of  her  poor  face,  blanched  and 
haggard  with  its  emotions.  The  havoc  wrought  on  her 
physical  beauty  woke  in  him  a  more  lively  contrition ; 
he  became  a  suitor  for  full  and  immediate  pardon.  "  Poor 
Liz,"  he  murmured,  "  poor  dear  Heart,  call  me  a  brute ; 
it's  what  lam!" 

She  turned  her  face  away,  mounting  a  colour  she 
wished  him  not  to  see. 

He  was  urgent  again  to  know  whether  she  forgave 
him. 

"  There's  naught  to  forgive !  "  she  declared.  "  You 
done  nothing;  it  was  foolish  of  me  to  fling  out  as  I  did. 
And  now,  whatever  you'd  done,  I'd  have  to  forgive  'e, 
and  be  in  your  debt  always.  It's  not  a  thing  to  be 
spoken  of." 

She  ended  by  begging  him  to  let  her  go.  But  for  that 
their  hearts  are  now  too  close ;  neither  of  them  could  act 
quite  honestly :  each  spoke  the  word  and  stayed,  irresolute 
to  perform. 


236-  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

At  length,  to  get  herself  free,  she  began  gently  to  push 
off  the  hand  which  held  her.  In  spite  of  the  action,  he 
saw  pardon  flowing  to  him  out  of  her  deep  eyes.  Her 
breath  warmed  his  cheek  as  she  made  her  first  faint  effort 
to  escape ;  and,  "  Oh,  Liz,  Liz !  "  cried  the  youth,  drawing 
breath  over  the  fire  within,  and  held  her  fast. 

"  Let  me  go,  let  me  go,"  she  whimpered ;  and  sighed 
blissfully  to  feel  his  clasp  tighten  at  the  word. 

The  man  in  him  moaned  like  an  animal  getting  free  of 
its  pain.  Crying,  "  I  love  you!  "  he  believed  deeply  then 
the  truth  of  his  word. 

"  Let  me  go !  let  me  go !  "  she  answered,  testing  the 
strength  of  the  chain  that  kept  her  his  prisoner. 

"  Show  me  you  forgive  me !  "  cried  Ray ;  "  then  I  will." 

"  I  do,  I  do !  " 

"  Make  me  believe  it !  " 

She  moved  her  head  hopelessly  about,  with  eyes  that 
said  "  Take  "  plainly  enough.  "  Give !  "  she  saw,  was  the 
demand  made  by  his. 

"  Dear  girl,  what  was  it  you  wouldn't  give  me  just 
now?  "  he  taxed  her  to  say.  "  Why  did  you  jump  down 
here  with  me  after  you  ?  " 

She  sighed,  yielding  her  defences  one  by  one. 

"  You  didn't  mean  nothing  then,"  she  said. 

"  I  did ;  and  I  mean  it  more  than  ever  now !  " 

"  What  ?  "  she  murmured,  and  threw  back  her  head  to 
drink  in  the  light  of  day  through  half-shut  lids.  From 
the  blue  communing  of  heaven,  her  eyes  fell  back  upon 
her  lover's  face. 

"  Just  this !  "  he  sent  word  to  her  ear,  "  that  I  love  you 
best  of  all  the  women  in  this  world.  Love  you !  —  there 
you  have  it,  Liz !  —  so  much,  that  if  you  had  gone  over, 
over  I'd  have  gone  too;  and  if  that  hadn't  done  for  me, 
I'd  have  been  a  miserable  wretch  to  the  end  of  my  days! 
Just  a  kiss,  Liz  !     Two !     What'll  you  give  me  ?  " 


A  FALL  RASHLY  REPENTED   237 

"  Oh,  that's  all  foolishness,"  muttered  the  girl,  but  laid 
all  at  once  a  face  of  crimson  down  by  his.  '  Take  'em," 
she  whispered,  "  take  'em,  Mr.  Raymond,  but  never  tell 
me  no  lies !  'Twas  bound  to  be  so.  You  love  me  just  for 
a  bit;  but  you  I  love  worse  than  well.  I've  knowed  that 
all  along !  " 

Raymond  gathered  her  to  him,  surprised  by  the  passion 
of  her  face  in  its  surrender.  She  seemed  a  new  woman, 
uplifted  by  the  pure  effort  of  her  heart  to  show  him  its 
love.  Conceiving  dimly  something  in  her  nature  tran- 
scending his,  he  felt  a  shame  lest  her  eyes  should  discern 
the  shortcomings  he  knew.  He  urged  his  tongue  to  speak 
flattery  to  her  ears  —  self-flattery  to  his  own  also;  for  a 
man's  passions  win  the  credulous  hearing  of  his  heart. 

"  Ah,  Liz,"  he  sighed,  "  it's  easy  for  a  woman  to  talk ! 
You  can't  tell  how  I  love  you ;  for  it's  certain  I  can't  tell 
myself.    You  only  see  a  corner  of  it  all." 

She  covered  his  lips  with  her  cheek  to  keep  them  from 
words.  ;'  Don't  'e  tell  me  no  lies,"  she  whispered  again; 
"  I  can  think  you  love  me  well  enough  so  long  as  you  don't 
speak  it ;  and  that's  good  enough :  —  all  I  can  ever  want 
or  hope." 

She  felt  the  protest  his  lips  made.  "  No,  no,  Mr.  Ray- 
mond !  "  she  cried,  and  drew  herself  away  from  him.  "  you 
can  never  love  me  as  I  do  you,  not  if  I  was  to  save  your 
life  fifty  times,  you  couldn't  do  it.  That's  no  lie  I'm  tell- 
ing you." 

"  Save  it  and  see,"  said  Raymond,  and  had  her  fast 
once  more.    "  See  now  !    Which  kisses  best,  you  or  I  ?  " 

But  from  the  midst  of  his  embrace  she  held  herself 
back,  and  gazed  long  into  his  eyes ;  and  at  the  end  of 
the  scrutiny,  turned  her  head  and  looked  away  from  him. 
She  had  too  much  common-sense  to  be  deceived  by  such 
signs. 

Raymond  felt  a  chill.     Somehow  she  judged  him ;  her 


238  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

very  humility  accused  him  and  set  her  higher  than  it  could 
please  his  conscience  to  feel.  His  eyes,  too,  went  out 
with  hers  across  the  fields,  dotted  over  with  the  slow- 
moving  incidents  of  rustic  life;  through  the  green  and 
the  gold,  foot-tracks  showed  in  thin  lines  making  toward 
the  road  that  led  on  to  Little  Alwyn ;  field  and  wood,  all 
ways  converged  to  that  end. 

Presently  his  attention  became  fixed  on  a  dark  figure 
moving  at  a  busy  and  earnest  pace  along  the  nearest  field- 
path,  the  black-frocked  figure  of  a  man  un-native  to  its 
surroundings;  solitary,  and  a  little  foolish  he  seemed  to 
the  young  man's  eye. 

The  pedestrian  had  traversed  over  a  hundred  yards 
before  Raymond  broke  silence ;  he  spoke  with  effort :  — 

"  Liz,  look  out  there!  "  He  nodded  her  to  the  object 
of  his  regards.  "There  goes  a  good  man!"  said  he; 
"  one  who  believes  his  son  is  going  to  be  a  parson  like 
himself.  If  he  could  look  up  here,  what  would  he  think 
now? " 

"  Maybe  the  truth,"  said  Lizzie,  "  that  the  world's  a 
foolish  place  to  preach  in."  Together  they  stared  at  the 
stooped  form  ambling  in  black,  a  dense  preoccupied  figure 
of  a  man. 

"  You  think  that  is  the  truth?  "  queried  Raymond,  and 
got  himself  up  from  the  turf.  Lizzie  rose  too,  and  stood 
at  his  side:  neither  looked  at  the  other.  After  a  long 
silence  Raymond  spoke. 

"  Liz,"  he  said,  "  I'm  a  devil  of  a  fool ;  have  been,  I 
mean.     You  know  what  I  want  to  say." 

"  If  I  know,"  she  answered,  "  why  say  it?" 

"  I  will;  truth  is  better  said  out.  Look  here!  I'm  off 
to-morrow.  We  —  we  shan't  forget  each  other  in  a  hurry, 
shall  we,  Liz?  You  arc  a  good  girl,  I  swear  it !  As  good 
as  they  make  'em.  We  —  I  —  oh,  hang  it !  —  say  good- 
bye, Liz,  but  don't  look  at  me!     I'm  off;  that's  all  about 


A  FALL  RASHLY  REPENTED   239 

it!"  He  turned  his  back  abruptly,  crying,  "Good- 
bye !  " 

"  Good-bye,  Mr.  Raymond,"  said  the  girl,  and  without 
another  word  reached  back  her  hands  to  the  nutting.  He 
did  not  see  her  face.    So  they  parted.    Raymond  ran. 

He  was  but  halfway  down  the  declivity  out  of  the 
wood  when  his  movements  underwent  a  sharp  change. 
He  turned  and  raced  back  to  the  nut-coppice  with  more 
speed  than  he  had  left  it  a  moment  before,  the  lover 
conquering. 

"  Liz,  Liz  !  "  he  called.  Her  place  was  vacant.  "  Liz !  " 
Distant  echoes  answered  him.  He  searched  the  wood 
over  but  could  not  find  her.  She  was  away  —  lost  to 
him,  it  seemed,  by  a  momentary  lapse  into  the  unnatural 
man.  Morals  then  to  the  youth  seemed  a  very  utter 
folly. 


CHAPTER   XX 

BOOTS    LEAD   A   DANCE   AT    HILL   ALWYN 

QO,  when  the  Tramp  returned  home  in  the  late 
^  autumn,  history  of  which  he  knew  nothing  had 
been  shaping  behind  his  back.  Brief  history,  it  is  true, 
and  showing  at  first  sight  a  negative  aspect,  an  undoing 
rather  than  a  doing  of  the  mischief  devised  by  fate.  Yet 
there  is  some  significance,  if  you  think  of  it,  when  fain 
wooer  and  fain  wooed,  the  masterful  and  the  mastered, 
without  any  fixed  principle  to  go  by,  consent  to  the 
thwarting  impulse  of  a  moment,  destined  thereafter  to 
drag  out  a  sorry  repentance. 

Raymond  schooled  his  bewildered  chagrin  under  a 
grudging  acceptance  of  the  moral  aspect  which  had 
obtruded  in  so  unwelcome  a  fashion.  The  thing  he  had 
done  seemed  so  out  of  character  he  could  scarcely  regard 
it  as  his  own  action  ;  nor  did  separation  do  anything  to 
reconcile  him  to  the  act  he  had  been  in  such  haste  to 
recall.  Now  that  he  had  let  the  girl  go  he  felt  himself 
all  the  more  drawn  by  the  wild  woodland  enchantment 
her  beauty  had  for  him.  The  world  recks  little  of  the 
keen  repentance  that  follows  upon  some  of  our  most 
correct  actions. 

Lizzie  submitted  more  easily  to  a  separation  which 
came  not  of  her  own  initiation ;  having  once  declared  its 
passion,  her  more  chaste  nature  stood  quiescent,  attendant 
on  a  stronger  will.     In  other  hands  now  lay  the  decision 

240 


A    DANCE    AT    HILL    ALWYN        241 

of  her  future :  she  was  there,  if  her  lover  should  ever 
choose  to  return  to  her. 

Her  common  sense  bade  her  not  think  of  it.  To  have 
won  so  much  of  Raymond's  regard,  despite  their  relative 
stations,  was  a  memory  she  could  be  proud  of ;  and  the 
sudden  scruple  which  had  led  to  his  abrupt  leave-taking 
had  but  enhanced  the  value  of  the  expression.  She  could 
honour  the  act  that  left  her  desolate ;  prizing  him,  and 
setting  more  store  on  his  passion  from  the  very  fact  that 
he  had  torn  their  two  inclinations  in  twain.  The  differ- 
ence in  their  two  natures  drew  them  to  make  opposite 
sacrifices :  she  was  ready  in  faithful  service  to  risk  any- 
thing :  he,  by  a  momentary  impulse  of  self-restraint,  had 
proved  that  his  passion  held  unexpected  grains  of  good. 
With  loyal  silence  she  had  given  him  the  quittance  he 
demanded :  her  laurels  were  the  release  she  had  been 
quick  to  render  him.  "  Liz !  Liz !  "  he  had  called,  and 
she  had  not  answered. 

Tristram's  first  meeting  with  the  girl  on  his  return  be- 
fell at  an  opportune  moment.  On  the  right-of-way  foot- 
path across  the  Hill  Alwyn  property  he  heard  high  voices 
ahead  of  him,  and  presently  recognised  the  disputants. 
Lizzie  came  up  to  him  with  a  high  head  and  a  flushed  face, 
quitting  the  enforced  company  of  MacAllister.  The  un- 
welcome encounter  was  not  by  any  means  the  first  she 
had  had  to  put  up  with,  but  of  that  Tristram  knew  noth- 
ing. Lizzie  herself  disdained  to  state  her  cause  for  com- 
plaint ;  while  Tristram,  for  his  part,  took  the  evidence  his 
eyes  afforded,  forbearing  to  ask  questions. 

He  gave  MacAllister  the  curtest  of  salutations  and 
marched  past  him,  strutting  somewhat  consciously,  a 
squire  of  beauty  in  distress. 

The  MacAllister,  left  to  his  own  meditations,  looked 
after  the  couple  with  something  more  than  suspicion,  and 
snuffed  a  tainted  air.     Fist  down  on  palm  registered  con 


24-'  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

viction  of  a  new  reason  for  hatred  between  him  and  Tris- 
tram. Within  a  week  a  bloody  head  got  from  a  knock 
behind  on  a  dark  night  precipitated  him  into  further  in- 
sane suspicions  utterly  wide  of  the  mark.  A  neighbour- 
hood that  bred  poachers  gave  cover  also  to  released  gaol- 
birds, between  whom  and  a  prosecuting  bailiff  grudges 
had  occasionally  to  be  paid  off.  MacAllisters  vindictive 
and  hasty  temper,  however,  lighted  forthwith  on  the  prov- 
ocation that  lay  nearest;  so,  beholding  himself  with  a 
bruised  head,  he  took  woman  to  be  its  cause,  and  let  his 
mind  run  naturally  towards  the  one  who  had  proved  most 
kittle  in  her  receipt  of  his  attentions.  From  that  hour  he 
had  his  nose  down  on  the  fancied  scent,  pursuing  a  double 
vengeance  along  a  single  trail. 

Through  this  slight  incident  Tristram  came  to  be  in- 
volved, without  knowing  it,  in  the  workings  of  a  drama 
whose  mainsprings  lay  hidden  from  his  sight,  and  to  act 
a  leading  part  in  the  play  of  other  folks'  passions :  a 
curious  fate  for  one  who  was  not  lacking  in  wilful  initia- 
tive of  his  own.  Here  in  his  career  his  history  begins  to 
be  secondary  to  that  of  other  people,  till  his  faculty  for 
meddling  brings  him  to  fresh  catastrophe.  You  that  dis- 
approve of  him  have  but  to  wait  to  see  his  self-destructive 
instincts  bringing  him  to  the  fore  again. 

Just  at  the  beginning  of  winter  rumours  went  about  that 
Hill  Alwyn  was  in  commotion :  maids  twittering  with 
hysterics,  grooms  actually  giving  notice  to  quit,  my  lady 
in  high  dudgeon  back  from  town  to  know  what  the  mean- 
ing of  it  all  was.    A  scaring  tale  was  told  her. 

On  the  evening  of  her  return  she  sent  a  man  over  for 
Tristram,  with  a  horse  to  ensure  his  speedier  arrival.  He 
came  in  by  the  stable-entrance. 

"  Seen  Bones  ?  "  was  her  first  word  of  greeting  to  him 
on  entrance.  She  thumped  her  fist  up  and  down  in  wrath, 
and  bewildered  him  by  a  plunge  into  the  centre  of  things 


A    DANCE    AT    HILL    ALWYN        243 

concerning  which  he  had  not  even  the  beginnings  of 
knowledge. 

"  He's  trying  to  turn  me  out  of  the  place,  as  though  I 
hadn't  paid  for  it !  "  she  started  to  cry  in  high  tones. 
'  Who?  —  why,  Bones,  of  course!  If  he  goes  on  with  it 
I'll  have  his  monument  hauled  down  over  his  head;  he 
shall  have  green  grass  to  lie  under,  and  thank  himself  for 
the  scandal  it'll  make !  " 

The  Tramp  begged  to  be  told  what  had  happened ;  the 
dame  let  him  hear  her  end  of  it.  Word  had  come  up  to 
her  in  town  that  two  stablemen  and  the  coachman  were 
bent  on  leaving,  and  pending  release  would  not  go  into 
the  stables  after  dark ;  that  all  the  women  were  squealing 
themselves  into  hysterics,  gratuitously  gluing  their  faces 
night  by  night  to  windows  looking  out  over  the  kennels; 
and  that  no  less  than  five  top-boots  had  been  seen  standing 
in  the  yard  and  agitating  themselves  in  a  singular  manner 
for  empty  ones. 

"  Top-boots  ?  "  queried  Tristram,  with  his  mind  back 
into  history. 

"  Alive  and  kicking,"  the  lady  asserted  them  to  be. 
"  It's  poor  Billy  he's  after,"  she  said.  "  Don't  tell  me  it's 
repentance ;  none  of  your  Doctor  Johnsons  standing  bare- 
headed in  the  rain  at  Lichfield !  If  that  were  his  state  of 
mind  he  wouldn't  be  kicking  his  toes  out  rehearsing  the 
job.  No!  he  does  it  to  drive  me  out  and  get  the  Cooper- 
Petwyn  crew  in  again.  Family  pride  was  always  his 
next  strongest  point  after  drink ;  he  always  let  me  know 
he'd  married  beneath  him." 

'  Very  well,"  she  went  on,  arguing  into  air,  "  to-morrow 
my  lawyer  comes,  and  I  make  my  will !  After  that  he  may 
kick  till  Doomsday  ;  his  family  shan't  profit !  " 

It  was  apparent  that  hatred  had  swallowed  up  the  lady's 
common  sense. 

Tristram  said,  "  Have  you  seen  the  thing  yourself?  " 


244  A    MODERN     ANTAEUS 

'I'm  going  to!"  she  answered.  '  That's  what  I've 
come  down  from  town  to  do.  If  five  fools  have  seen  it 
why  shouldn't  1  ?  " 

She  ordered  the  household  to  bed,  and  made  Tristram 
keep  her  company  at  a  back-window  to  past  midnight. 
To  while  away  the  time  he  talked  till  she  bade  him  not 
chatter ;  in  the  silence  that  ensued  she  snapped  at  every 
least  sound  like  a  terrier  for  rats :  animosity  not  fear  set 
her  trembling  by  fits ;  she  had  hold  of  the  boy's  hand. 
Nothing  at  all  happened. 

She  declared  this  to  be  his  fault,  and  when  the  regula- 
tion hour  was  well  over  dismissed  him  as  unprofitable  to 
her  purpose.  Letting  himself  out  of  the  dim  hollow- 
sounding  house  he  went  off,  part  for  curiosity  and  part 
for  bravado,  by  way  of  the  stables,  and  looking  up  saw 
the  implacable  grey  face  still  staring  out  at  the  night. 
She  shook  her  head  at  him  savagely,  waving  him  off  as 
though  he  were  in  the  way  of  the  ghostly  manifestation. 
Leaving  her  there  was  pathetic  and  grotesque  enough  ; 
she,  not  the  ghost,  haunted  him.  A  woman  with  a  past 
she  was  indeed ! 

The  event  gave  him  a  strange  corner  of  her  mind  to 
look  into.  If  the  Cooper- Petwyns  got  word  of  it  thev 
would  hardly  account  her  sane.  He  wondered  how  a  will 
would  stand  made  under  such  circumstances. 

A  few  days  afterwards  old  Haycraft  chuckled  to  Tris- 
tram of  the  rumour  that  had  reached  him. 

"  Lord,  Lord !  "  he  said,  "  it's  wonderful  what  a  little 
the  gentry  do  know !  Them  boots  be  a  sight  older  than 
the  Bar'net  —  a  hundred  years  and  more.  Folks  a'  forgot 
'em;  they  bin  seen  so  seldom  of  late  years.  I  seen  'em 
though  ;  saw  'em  when  I  was  a  boy." 

He  told  Tristram  the  true  storv. 

From  time  immemorial,  before  there  was  a  house  at 
Hill  Alwyn,  there  were  kennels  and  stables.    One  Harrop, 


A    DANCE    AT    HILL    ALWYN         245 

a  crusty  devil  by  all  accounts  and  a  brute  to  his  beasts, 
was  huntsman  at  a  date  near  the  middle  of  the  eighteenth 
century.  He  trained  his  pack  on  the  empty-stomach  sys- 
tem, and  was  an  all-round  hard  disciplinarian.  One  night 
in  early  December  there  was  a  great  noise  up  at  the  ken- 
nels ;  possibly  a  fox  had  skulked  by  and  left  scent  of  him- 
self to  his  would-be  eaters.  Anyway,  a  very  madness  of 
excitement  took  hold  of  the  whole  pack ;  the  din  of  it 
came  down  to  the  huntsman's  cottage  about  the  hour  when 
he  was  making  ready  for  bed.  Making  ready  for  bed 
with  him  was  by  way  of  the  brown  jug.  He  got  up  from 
his  liquor  with  a  curse,  and  stumbled  out  into  darkness, 
whip  in  hand. 

Next  morning  his  top-boots  only  were  found,  lying  torn 
and  bloody  against  the  doors  of  the  kennels,  and  all  the 
hounds  were  on  rampage  fairly  ravening.  Those  who  saw 
them  got  a  horror  over  the  sight ;  they  wrere  let  forth  one 
by  one  and  shot. 

A  true  story,  Haycraft  averred ;  and  scoffed  that  a  gang 
of  town  menials  should  live  in  the  place  and  not  know  of 
it.  After  the  tragedy  the  boots  walked  steadily  for  some 
years,  till  the  cottage  was  pulled  down  and  the  house  built 
over  its  site.  That  seemed-  to  give  a  check  to  the  clock- 
like regularity  of  the  ghostly  pedestrian ;  but  at  times  the 
old  uneasy  spirit  re-asserted  itself,  and  boots  were  to  be 
seen  up  at  the  kennels  doing  the  same  dance  as  formerly. 

"  One  man  did  tell  me,"  said  Haycraft,  "  that  he  saw 
'em  the  year  Sir  Cooper  died;  —  just  before  he  died, 
that  would  be.  As  to  that  I  can't  say,  I  was  elsewhere  in 
those  days ;  but  they  do  say  always  that  it's  a  token  of 
evil  to  come ;  twice  it  have  been  followed  by  the  death  of 
a  Master  of  the  Tavishires,  that  being  when  he  happened 
to  be  one  of  the  family.    'Tis  a  bad  sign,  anyway." 

Tristram  called  to  mind  Lady  Petwyn's  gloomy  fore- 
bodings about  herself,  and  her  talk  of  making  a  will,  and 


246  A     MODERN    ANTAEUS 

questioned  whether  to  tell  her  or  no.  He  did  so,  only  to 
rouse  her  into  wrath  at  being  robbed  of  the  feud  toward 
which  her  heart  had  kindled  a  malignant  welcome.  "  And 
I've  made  my  will,"  she  said,  as  though  it  had  become 
wasted  labour.  She  flourished  in  his  face  a  threat  to  burn 
it ;  and  when  he  saw  no  reason  why  not,  if  the  thought  of 
the  thing  done  displeased  her,  called  him  jackanapes  and 
fool. 

At  the  beginning  of  December  young  Aubrey  Cooper- 
Petwyn,  the  least  disliked  of  her  numerous  heirs  pre- 
sumptive, came  to  stay  for  a  couple  of  weeks,  and  broke 
his  neck  in  the  hunting-field  through  sheer  bad  riding. 
Lady  Petwyn  harped  on  that  fact,  to  wither  her  pity  for  a 
young  man  cut  off  in  his  prime. 

"  I  couldn't  have  trusted  my  horses  to  him,"  she  said. 
"  A  gentleman's  first  duty  is  to  know  how  to  ride." 

She  let  Tristram  understand  that  he  owed  her  thanks 
for  that  initiation.  He  had  been  present  when  the  acci- 
dent occurred,  and  went  over  as  Lady  Petwyn's  represen- 
tative to  attend  the  poor  lad's  funeral.  He  found  himself 
curiously  eyed  by  the  relatives  among  whom  he  had  come 
on  an  errand  of  sympathy.  They  remained  cold ;  and 
left  him.  an  eye-witness,  unquestioned  for  details  of  the 
lamentable  event,  and  unthanked  for  his  presence.  He 
was  forced  to  suppose  that  they  blamed  Lady  Petwyn, 
notorious  for  her  reckless  riding,  and  let  a  shadow  of 
their  minds  in  the  matter  fall  upon  him,  her  emissary. 

A  kindly  feeling  prompted  the  dame  to  be  absent  from 
the  next  meet  of  the  season.  Regarding  one  abstinence  as 
a  sufficient  sop  to  conventions  she  disrespected,  she  undid 
the  good  by  being  present  at  the  meet  following.  Word 
went  of  it,  and  the  whole  house  of  Cooper-Petwyn,  Cooper 
and  Co.  bristled  at  the  news.  "  They  write  to  me  with 
porcupine  quills,"  she  told  Tristram,  "  on  paper  with 
black  phylacteries  double-breadth !    Am  I  to  be  cooped  up 


A    DANCE    AT    HILL    ALWYN         247 

a  whole  season  because  they  couldn't  teach  a  poor,  foolish 
boy  how  to  ride  properly  ?  "  She  nagged  to  quiet  her  con- 
science ;  for  it  was  quite  true  that  she  had  led  the  youth  to 
the  jump  that  landed  him  in  eternity. 

As  a  consequence  she  demanded  much  of  Tristram's 
time  to  keep  her  amused,  and  wanted  to  know  one  day 
why  she  always  saw  him  in  a  hurry,  with  his  nose  pointing 

WQSt. 

He  told  her  of  Ben  Haycraft  smitten  down  under  the 
rigours  of  winter  and  approaching  age;  Lizzie,  single- 
handed,  and  so,  house-bound,  unable  to  do  the  necessary 
marketings,  or  procure  for  the  sick  man  the  extra  com- 
forts he  required ;  only  not  driven  to  be  bread-winner  as 
well,  for  the  old  rascal  had  his  store,  and  could  afford  to 
be  frostbitten  for  a  while  without  fear  of  lean  poverty. 

Beholding  him  much  concerned,  the  lady  doubted 
whether  the  youth's  errand  was  one  of  pure  philanthropy ; 
pious  philandering  rather,  she  suspected  it  to  be,  and  en- 
couraged it  with  promises  of  beef-tea  and  wine  if  Tris- 
tram would  trouble  to  come  over  and  fetch  them.  One 
day  she  added  a  bundle  of  blankets,  and  saw  him  carry  off 
the  huge  ungainly  parcel  without  a  suspicion  that  he  was 
being  laughed  at. 

She  was  more  puzzled  when  Christmas  came  to  find 
Raymond  impressed  into  the  same  service,  and  just  as 
hot  on  it.  "  Young  men  didn't  play  at  district-visiting 
and  parish-nursing  in  my  day !  "  she  remarked ;  and  sup- 
posed that  among  poachers  blood  was  thicker  than  water 
in  some  special  degree. 

It  was  by  the  old  man's  bed  that  Raymond  and  Lizzie 
set  eyes  on  each  other  again.  The  circumstances  sealed 
the  compact  of  silence  between  them ;  after  many  visits 
the  young  man  had  not  even  the  touch  of  her  hands  to 
judge  by.  Her  call  for  any  to  enter  who  knocked  saved 
her  from  coming  to  the  door  to  meet  him ;  and  from  her 


248  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

eyes  he  could  read  nothing  but  gratitude  for  immediate 
services. 

Under  their  combined  efforts  Haycraft  was  cooked  and 
coddled  through  the  worst  part  of  the  winter,  and  a 
charmingly  disreputable  character  saved  to  the  neighbour- 
hood. On  the  first  pick-up  of  his  strength  the  old  man 
hankered  for  a  taste  of  his  own  game,  much  as  did  Isaac 
for  his  son's  venison.  Together  the  two  friends  went  out 
and  foraged  the  leafless  cover:  often  keeping  afield  when 
reward  was  scanty,  and  waiting  freezing  work.  For  the 
mere  sound  of  their  shooting,  coming  down  to  him  from 
his  own  coppice,  brought  a  queer  satisfaction  to  the  sick 
man's  ear;  the  passion  of  the  chase  infected  his  blood; 
the  thought  that  his  "  two  young  gen'lemen  were  at  it  " 
whiled  away  the  hours.  Lizzie  declared  that  nothing  did 
him  so  much  good. 

Tristram  marched  off  a  brace  of  her  own  pheasants  to 
Lady  Petwyn  one  day,  and  made  her  purchase  them  for 
the  sake  of  the  old  poacher  lying  ill.  The  impertinence 
of  it  pleased  her  vastly ;  she  invited  him  to  go  further  and 
try  the  same  game  on  MacAllister,  and  saw  his  brow 
go  a  little  black  over  the  pleasantry.  It  was  plain  that 
the  youth's  genial  heart  contained  its  dark  spot  of  irrecon- 
cilable dislike. 

She  taxed  him  with  an  ungenerous  harbouring  of  old 
grudges.  Tristram  said  he  hoped  he  could  like  a  mere 
enemy,  if  that  were  all ;  but  some  characters  he  could  not. 
MacAllister,  he  declared,  was  an  ill  beast,  giving  his  em- 
ployer also  an  ill  name  in  the  neighbourhood. 

"  Not  the  only  woman  he  does  that  for,  I'm  told,"  re- 
plied the  outrageous  dame,  indicating  a  hearty  tolerance 
for  any  male  who  had  the  wits  to  be  successful  with  the 
fools  and  frauds  of  creation.  She  prided  herself  on  an 
utter  lack  of  charity  for  her  own  sex ;  if  not  noodles, 
anglers  she  held  them  to  be;  when  not  calculating,  then 


A    DANCE    AT    HILL    ALWYN        249 

miscalculating  their  fates.  'Twas  either,  "  Where  am  I  ?  " 
or,  "  Here  I  am!  "  when  catastrophe  came  to  them. 

She  had  but  to  drop  a  few  words  of  this  sort  to  get 
Tristram  noisy,  and  have  her  play  with  his  raw  theories. 
She  listened,  chaffed,  avoided  argument  by  calling  him 
boy  and  child :  from  that  dropped  to  babe ;  and  finally  told 
him  not  to  be  a  prig. 

"  What  is  a  prig  ?  "  he  challenged  her  to  explain. 

She  amused  herself  studying  his  hot  face.  "  Some- 
thing you  are  always  trying  to  be  and  can't  be !  "  she  told 
him.    "  And  the  ambition  makes  you  look  foolish." 

The  gibe  shut  his  mouth  for  the  moment.  Lady  Pet- 
wyn's  thought  was,  "  Poor  youth,  what  a  cropper  he  will 
come  some  day  when  facts  get  hold  of  him!  "  and  had 
in  her  mind's  eye  the  particular  petticoat  that  might  render 
him  that  service.  Nor  had  she  the  slightest  intention  of 
intervening  to  prevent  the  catastrophe. 

When  she  sent  bed-ridden  Haycraft  a  good  price  for  the 
return  of  her  pheasants,  there  was  little  enough  of  charity 
in  the  deed. 


CHAPTER    XXI 


BEM BRIDGE    FAIR 


ADY  PETWYN  was  not  destined  to  see  ideal  youth 
put  upon  trial,  though  during  the  year  that  fol- 
lowed, momentary  twinges  of  the  moral  problem  had  hold 
of  Tristram,  telling  round  what  corner  there  was  capering 
to  be  done  at  the  beck  of  the  goat-shanked  god.  Now 
and  again,  some  fumes  of  what  reeked  ahead  blew  over 
his  senses ;  but  to  sniff  and  feel  a  smother  is  one  thing, 
the  actual  scorching  another.  How  an  initial  smoke-cur- 
ing differs  from  the  smelting-process  is  the  discovery  not 
of  the  'teens  but  of  the  twenties.  Had  he  come  to  her 
cobweb  for  a  confessional,  the  dame  could  have  pointed 
him  a  quicker  way  to  the  singeing  she  wished  him ;  but 
her  lures  up  to  town  with  its  sights  of  the  gay  world  had 
no  attraction  as  yet  for  the  foolish  youth,  wise  with  the 
hand-to-mouth  conceits  of  his  age.  One  day  she  caught 
him  reading  the  book  of  an  American  recluse :  dipped  into 
it  herself,  only  to  find  it  despairingly  dull ;  and  begged 
him  not  to  be  affected,  pretending  to  a  liking  for  such 
stuff.  When  he  quoted  pieces  at  her  she  concluded  that 
prehistoric  anarchy  had  infected  his  brain,  and  determined 
wisely  to  give  him  his  run  till  this  latest  diet  of  prig-nuts, 
as  she  termed  it,  should  be  digested.  Her  reckoning  gave 
a  year  for  so  much  madness  to  come  out  of  him. 

Accepting  her  word  for  it  he  enlisted  her  services,  to 
get  him  quick  through  with  that  particular  folly.     He 

250 


BEMBRIDGE    FAIR  251 

wanted  one  large  helping  of  liberty  before  the  bondage  of 
the  desk  should  swallow  him  into  manhood's  estate,  and 
knew  that  a  formal  invitation  from  her  would  count  for 
much  with  his  father.  She  became  a  ready  conspirator; 
an  invitation  for  him  to  come  and  join  a  house-party  at 
her  place  in  Wales  for  part  of  the  ensuing  summer  and 
autumn  had  the  right  sound  about  it.  Consent  being  ob- 
tained, July,  with  two  months  to  follow,  was  the  date 
fixed.  Then  he  was  to  start  off  and  play  the  fool  in  his 
own  way  on  territory  Lady  Petwyn  would  supply,  she 
claiming  the  right  to  come  at  intervals  and  contemplate 
his  hark-back  into  savagery. 

When  the  invitation  came  down  in  state  to  be  read  by 
his  elders,  Tristram  saw  Marcia's  wise-acre  eyes  looking 
at  him,  and  knew  himself  spotted  ;  she  had  a  feline  instinct 
for  all  the  rat-runs  that  abounded  on  his  moral  premises, 
without  knowing  quite  where  they  led  to.  Never  inquis- 
itive, by  sheer  insight  she  compelled  herself  into  his  con- 
fidence. So,  now  when  he  said  to  her:  "  You  and  I  will 
write  to  each  other,  Marcia,"  she  knew  she  had  him  fast, 
and  cared  very  little  after  that  about  his  long  absence 
under  auspices  she  disapproved. 

The  date  of  his  departure  gave  the  Tramp  time  to  be  in 
Bembridge  for  the  big  annual  orgie  of  pleasuring  which 
shortly  after  midsummer  made  a  vicious  gathering  of  the 
whole  rural  activity  of  the  district.  St.  Swithin  was  then 
called  on  to  preside  over  a  festival  wherein  his  element 
played  but  a  subsidiary  part,  unless  he  chanced  to  assert 
sovranly  his  pluvial  influence,  give  a  drenching  to  the 
whole  spectacle,  and  make  doubly  miserable  in  their 
ditches  along  all  the  highways  leading  out  of  Bembridge 
the  poor  tipplers  who  had  set  forth  with  a  bona  fide  hope 
of  reaching  home  before  morning.  To  these,  and  to 
others  with  them  less  reputably  determined,  the  Saint 
would  then  prove  a  stern  shepherd  and  bishop  of  souls; 


252  A     MODERN     ANTAEUS 

but,  as  a  rule,  he  gave  the  Devil  his  opportunity,  ana  for 
a  good  three  mile  radius  over  a  country-side  on  all  other 
days  peaceable  and  passable,  the  Devil  took  the  same,  and 
had  helping  and  surfeit. 

For  the  sake  of  its  local  colour,  Tristram  had  a  liking 
for  the  bucolic  frenzy  which  then  frothed  itself  to  a  head. 
Youth  has  a  taste  for  all  meats  offered  to  idols,  and  the 
yeasting  of  a  human  mob  will  draw  minds  superior  to 
sensibler  excitements.  He  went  down  for  the  hurly-burly 
with  Raymond,  newly  back  from  Oxford ;  and,  even  so 
early  in  the  day,  their  ears  caught  the  hubbub  of  the  fair  a 
mile  before  they  came  into  the  town.  They  overtook  has- 
tening groups ;  Tristram  knew  most  of  them ;  something 
of  their  clothes  too,  it  would  seem,  for  he  threw  the  laugh- 
ing compliment  of  "  There's  bunting!  "  and,  "  First  time 
on !  "  to  three  girls  trolloping  along  in  fresh  finery. 

'  Pretty' minxes,"  was  his  summing  of  them  when  they 
had  passed.  To  Raymond's  enquiry,  Tristram  had  their 
names  off  pat ;  Emma,  Jane,  and  Polly,  maidens  of  ill- 
reputed  parentage :  Tilt  by  name,  and  Tilt  by  nature  to 
the  verge  of  actual  spill  and  upset.  "  As  fast  as  they  grow 
up  they  become  handfuls,"  said  he.  "  Your  father  could 
tell  you  about  them,  I  suspect :  they  must  give  him  trouble 
enough." 

Raymond  gave  an  off-hand  laugh.  '  You  know  about 
them  too,  it  seems,"  said  he.  "  Getting  a  bit  of  a  handful 
yourself,  eh  ?  " 

The  Tramp  was  too  light-witted  to  make  much  of  the 
remark  ;  he  shrugged  and  laughed  off  into  anecdote  of  the 
Tilt  family,  a  centre  of  squabble  and  scandal  to  the  Cob's 
Hole  community  ;  the  father  a  hawker,  often  away ;  the 
mother  immensely  fat,  a  sedentary  scold ;  would  pull  off 
her  shoes  and  hurl  them  among  the  family  with  words  as 
well,  rather  than  rise  up  off  her  scat  to  deal  chastisement. 
That  was  her  method  of  discipline ;   from   its   exercise 


BEMBRIDGE    FAIR  253 

Polly,  the  youngest,  had  gone  to  church  with  a  black  eye. 
boasting  that  in  revenge  she  had  put  the  shoe  and  its  fel- 
low into  the  pig's  wash  tub :  an  amusing,  scurrilous  breed, 
always  noisy,  very  often  disreputable.  Tristram  main- 
tained they  had  their  good  points ;  undertaking  their  de- 
fence because  of  his  friend,  the  hawker,  a  clever,  plausible 
rogue,  now  in  temporary  retirement  for  a  breach  of  the 
peace.  He  had  come  upon  the  fellow  in  his  trampings, 
and  had  culled  racy  wisdom  from  his  wayside  expe- 
riences. 

Reaching  Bembridge  they  rounded  a  street-corner,  and 
through  an  alley  of  elms  came  forthwith  into  a  full  view 
of  the  merry-making.  The  public  green  was  already 
trampled  out  of  recognition  ;  wherever  a  gap  showed, 
battened  brown  sod  had  taken  the  place  of  grass. 
Through  a  carpet-beating  atmosphere,  the  crowd  moved, 
swallowing  the  dust  shaken  up  by  its  feet.  Dull  and  fierce, 
the  pursuits  of  pleasure  and  profit  were  urging  side  by 
side.  With  an  air  of  unconscious  docility  the  sight-seers 
went  their  rounds  of  the  booths :  the  led  herd  baaed ;  the 
herders  barked  them  from  place  to  place.  Brown  gipsies, 
a  sharp-eyed  crew,  rubbed  shoulders  with  dull-faced 
bumpkins ;  fellows  styled  prize-fighters  exhibited  them- 
selves before  their  tent  in  preliminary  show  of  fisticuffs ; 
showmen  stood  on  tubs  and  waved;  buxom  sylphs  in 
tights  strutted  on  platforms  and  lolled  over  handrails ;  a 
surviving  portion  of  a  Bulgarian  massacre  coloured  Mid- 
lothian rhetoric  to  the  cold  stare  of  an  English  crowd; 
weight-pounders  smote  the  bolt  that  shot  an  indicator  up 
a  pole  toward  the  just-attainable  point  where  a  bell  waited 
to  give  tongue.  Added  to  all  these  movements  and  sights 
went  a  villainous  babel  of  sound :  the  crack  of  cocoanut- 
shying,  the  churning  of  steam  and  hand  organs,  the  long- 
drawn  whistles  of  merry-go-rounds,  the  squeals  of  tossing 
humanity  in  boats  and  swings,  the  popping  of  toy-rifles 


254  A     MODERN    ANTAEUS 

at  bell-targets,  the  hoarse  yahing  of  quacks,  clowns,  and 
showmen;  all  the  hideous  uproar  of  forced  business  and 
mirth  squeezed  into  the  limits  of  a  single  day,  for  the  vio- 
lent exhaustion  of  dull  wits,  spewed  over  a  madding  pop- 
ulace. 

Sight  of  some  gipsies  whom  he  recognised  made  Tris- 
tram wonder  whether  old  Haycraft  would  be  over  to  re- 
vive buried  enmities  and  friendships  out  of  an  obscured 
past.  Raymond  answered  for  him,  not :  knew  him  to  be 
away  on  a  three  days'  ratting  job  the  other  side  of  Ran- 
dogger.  Lizzie  then,  left  alone,  was  not  likely  to  come 
either. 

Tristram  said,  "  I  want  to  go  and  talk  to  some  of  that 
gang,"  and  dragged  Ray  into  a  booth  where  drinking  and 
eating  were  in  progress.  He  astonished  his  friend  by 
talking  in  a  strange  tongue  to  an  old  woman  he  found 
there.  She,  too,  was  disconcerted ;  she  looked  sharp  and 
sly  at  him,  and  answered  with  some  reserve,  on  hearing 
the  speech  of  her  tribe  coming  from  a  stranger. 

"  Where  did  you  get  that  gibberish?  "  asked  Raymond; 
but  Tristram  held  it  as  the  final  prize  of  his  intimacy  with 
Haycraft,  and  refused  to  tell;  he  doubted  whether  any 
other  knew  that  the  old  fellow  had  the  gift,  and  was  proud 
to  have  wheedled  instruction  out  of  him.  In  Romany, 
Haycraft  had  told  him  things  not  to  be  spoken  in  his 
mother-tongue. 

Tristram  got  Raymond  to  give  his  palm  to  the  old 
woman  ;  his  own  she  refused  to  look  at,  though  silver  lay 
in  it.  Ray  listened  indolently  to  the  grey  crone's  gabble, 
but  stood  up  sharp  and  turned  a  quick  look  on  his  friend 
when  she  spoke  of  a  dark  girl  waiting  to  meet  him.  She 
bid  him  beware  of  another  man,  no  friend  to  either  of 
them ;  and  added,  after  Raymond  had  drawn  back  his 
hand,  "  You've  a  long  journey  before  you,  my  pretty  gen- 
tleman ;  and  a  far-off  land's  where  you'll  have  to  live." 


BEMBRIDGE    FAIR  255 

Her  earnestness  amused  the  Tramp,  and  he  offered  his 
hand  once  more  for  inspection.  "  I've  seen  you  about 
Randogger,"  said  he.  She  bade  him  repocket  his  coin 
and  refused  to  have  anything  to  do  with  him.  As  he  was 
following  Raymond  out  of  the  tent,  she  pulled  him  back. 
'  When  do  you  come  to  us  ?  "  she  whispered.  He  an- 
swered in  Romany,  "  When  I  do  come  shall  I  bring  him 
along  with  me  ?  "  uttering  a  name  that  took  her  in  mid- 
breath.    He  went  out  and  left  her  staring. 

Later  in  the  day  some  one  plucked  at  him  in  the  crowd. 
It  was  the  old  crone  again.  "  Give  him  that,"  she  said; 
thrust  a  small  pouch  into  his  hand  and  made  off. 

The  Tramp  had  not  a  chance  of  seeing  how  Hay  craft 
took  it  when  it  came  to  him ;  having  to  leave  before  the 
old  man's  return,  he  made  Lizzie  his  medium  for  convey- 
ing it.  Haycraft  made  no  mention  of  it  when  they  met 
again. 

Before  evening  set  in  Raymond's  interest  in  the  fair 
was  over ;  he  declared  for  home,  and  before  long  was  off. 
Tristram  by  then  was  among  his  farmer  friends.  He 
wished  to  get  old  Duffin  off  his  liquor  to  come  and  see  a 
fair,  fat  woman  on  view  in  one  of  the  shows.  "  Poor  old 
boy,"  said  he,  "  I  mean  to  find  him  a  second  wife ;  and  a 
fat  beauty's  the  shape  for  him."  In  the  booth  he  had 
great  fun  with  that  sturdy  specimen  of  an  English  yeo- 
man, cheery  and  mellow  from  his  cups;  and  dropped  a 
sly  bribe  to  the  lady  to  fall  on  him  and  kiss  him.  She  did, 
declaring  he  was  the  man  she  had  waited  for ;  her  an- 
nouncement that  she  was  a  widow  with  ten  children,  the 
eldest  still  growing,  sent  him  out  heart-whole  amid  the 
laughter  of  the  onlookers. 

Outside  he  turned  on  Tristram  a  reproachful  eye,  de- 
tecting the  game  to  be  his.  "  Muster  Tristram,"  he  said, 
"  I  ha'n't  kissed  a  woman  since  I  lost  my  poor  wife  three 
year  ago  come  Michaelmas:  and  now  you  gone  and  done 


256  A     MODERN     ANTAEUS 

it  for  me !  "  He  declared  it  as  though  virtue  had  gone 
out  of  him  in  the  process. 

Tristram  vowed  it  was  a  friendly  act.  "  Your  old 
woman,''  said  he,  "  was  too  good  a  wife  not  to  wish  you 
comfortable  in  your  old  age ;  and  that  you're  not,  though 
you  could  be.  There's  three  sighing  for  you  that  I  know 
of  to  a  certainty." 

"  Three?  Lord,  but  you  don't  say  three?"  the  old  boy 
protested,  his  vast  frame  tickled  through  with  vanity  at 
the  bare  notion  of  it. 

"  Three  for  certain,"  answered  the  youth.  "  Give 
another  the  benefit  of  the  doubt,  I'd  say  four :  —  Bonny 
ones  too !    It's  for  you  to  find  them  out." 

The  hale  old  farmer  slapped  his  thigh  to  hear  of  him- 
self so  much  in  request ;  he  required  but  little  pushing. 
The  Tramp  had  caught  him  in  the  right  mood. 

"  My  poor  wife  'ud  wish  it,"  he  assented :  "  hearty,  she 
would.    She  was  a  kind  "un." 

"  Not  to  be  beaten  !  "  Tristram  cried,  in  praise  to  her 
memory.    "  You  were  a  good  trainer,  Duffin." 

The  old  man  thanked  him.  Truth  to  tell,  Tristram's 
trick  had  revived  snuggling  memories  of  comforts  he  had 
forgotten.  Thanks  to  the  youth,  he  carried  away  with 
him  from  Bembridge  fair  a  notion  that  the  gay  dog  was 
not  dead  in  him  yet ;  and  there,  before  his  recovered  mind 
in  the  matter  was  a  sure  knowledge  of  what  his  Susan's 
emphatic  wishes  in  the  matter  would  be.  Before  the  chills 
of  winter  came  to  make  him  once  more  a  conscious  bach- 
elor, he  had  picked  out  for  himself  one  of  Tristram's  im- 
aginary three,  a  comely  spinster  well  under  forty  ;  and 
marrying  her,  like  Job  in  renewed  prosperity,  begat  sons 
and  daughters  to  give  joy  to  him  in  his  old  age.  It  was 
little  more  than  a  year  later  that  to  the  first  of  these,  at 
his  bidding,  Tristram  had  fitly  and  properly  to  stand  god- 
father. He  did  so  then  with  a  battered  reputation,  not 
nltogether  new  to  the  office. 


BEMBRIDGE    FAIR  257 

This  great  matter  from  a  little  fire  has  carried  the 
narrative  away  from  the  day  whose  tale  has  still  to  be 
told ;  but  we  do  well  to  follow  up  the  Tramp's  responsi- 
bility for  sins  as  fast  as  he  commits  them,  else  we  might 
never  overtake  them ;  and  we  must  bear  in  mind  that  an 
elder's  moral  has  to  be  spoken  on  the  whole  of  his  story. 
For  this  day,  at  least,  there  is  no  more  evil  to  tell  of  him, 
though  an  event  of  some  importance  has  yet  to  follow. 

Inside  his  riotous  hours  the  youth  had  a  knack  for  a 
level  calculation  of  events ;  mother-wit  told  him  that 
Farmer  Duffin's  offer  of  a  lift  home  in  his  cart  when  the 
clocks  struck  eleven  was  an  hour  later  than  his  soul's  wel- 
fare demanded.  At  ten,  therefore,  he  got  himself  up 
from  the  company  of  more  seasoned  drinkers,  bid  a  round 
dozen  of  good-nights,  and  escaped  from  a  smoke-laden 
atmosphere  to  the  purer  heat  of  a  breathless  summer's 
night. 

He  skirted  the  broad  fairground  where  revelry  was 
now  guttering  down  to  its  final  flare,  and  by  way  of  the 
elm  avenue  made  for  the  quiet  of  open  field  spaces 
beyond.  Entering  the  first  of  these,  he  came  upon 
dancers,  footing  it  in  partial  time  to  a  couple  of  fiddlers 
who  sawed,  each  with  a  will  of  his  own,  a  portion  of  the 
same  tune.  The  music  was  sufficiently  precise  for  the 
legs  that  went  to  it ;  the  dancers,  so  long  as  they  could 
keep  clasped,  cared  not  what  way  they  twirled,  nor  by 
what  sounds  accompanied.  Wherever  a  group  rested 
bottles  went  up  and  down :  bottles  without  glasses,  both 
sexes  drinking  alike,  a  sure  sign  that  the  polite  picnic- 
stage  had  passed.  The  Tramp  recognised  several  Alwyn 
and  Hiddenden  villagers  among  the  groups ;  he  picked 
his  way  through  their  midst,  avoiding  as  best  he  could 
the  dusky  figures  that  swung  this  way  and  that  across 
his  path.  Suddenly,  from  behind,  a  couple  lurched  into 
him ;  the  man   went   down,   dragging  with   him  a  torn 


258  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

strip  of   white  skirt;   only   the  Tramp's  arm  saved  his 
partner   from   sharing  his   fall. 

"  Go  along,  Tom,  you're  drunk,"  cried  the  girl,  skittish 
and  vexed.  "I'll  have  no  more  of  you;  here's  my 
gentleman !  " 

Tristram  recognised  the  voice  of  Miss  Polly  Tilt. 
Hadn't  he  come  on  very  purpose  to  dance  with  her?  she 
asked  him.  Once  round,  he  said,  if  she  would  promise  to 
go  home  after  it. 

'  Lor' !  why,  it's  young  Mr.  Gavney !  "  she  cried,  flut- 
tered at  the  discovery.  '  I'm  sure,  I  do  ask  your  pardon! 
hut  I  was  jest  spoiling  for  a  dance;  and  Tom,  it's  beyond 
'im." 

Tristram  assured  her  she  might  have  her  dance  if  she 
wished  for  it.  She  giggled  and  hung  on  him  with  delight, 
declaring  that  it  was  like  being  a  real  lady  to  be  danced 
by  him.  All  at  once  she  became  coy,  and  wanted  to  know 
if  any  one  was  looking.  "Why  shouldn't  they?"  en- 
quired Tristram,  and  without  waiting  for  further  argu- 
ment spun  her  round  the  field  on  the  outskirts  of  the 
bobbing  multitude.  "  Lor',  how  beautiful  you  do  dance !  " 
she  sighed  from  the  shelter  of  his  arm. 

He  halted  her  out  of  ear-shot  of  her  companions  to 
say,  "  Now,  Polly,  you've  had  your  dance,  be  as  good  as 
your  word  and  go  home  !    Where  are  all  the  rest  of  you  ?  " 

She  pouted,  declaring  herself  left  in  the  lurch ;  her 
sisters  had  gone  off  about  their  own  devices,  each  with 
her  young  man. 

"  And  what  about  yours  ?  "  asked  Tristram.  "  Where's 
he?" 

'  Yon !  "  said  the  girl,  pointing  to  the  recumbent  figure 
of  her  recently  discharged  partner.  "That's  mine;  we 
took  up  las'  Sunday;  we  done  it  o'  purpose  for  the  fair; 
and  see  what  'e's  fit  for  now !  " 

Tristram  hardly  liked  leaving  her  in  the  hands  of  such 


BEMBRIDGE    FAIR  259 

a  guardian  at  that  hour,  and  on  that  night.  A  mere  slip 
of  a  girl  still,  she  had  wild  blood  in  her ;  was  pretty  too, 
a  bit  of  a  kitten  ;  for  the  rest,  a  baggage.  He  was  in  doubt 
what  to  do.  From  her  manner  he  could  tell  that  she  too 
had  been  drinking,  and  there  would  be  more  drink 
waiting  wherever  Tom  was. 

"  I'll  see  you  home,"  said  he  finally. 

"  You  ?  "  She  grinned  at  the  rank  impropriety  of  the 
proposal.  "  Oh  no !  where'd  my  character  be  if  I  was 
seen  going  home  at  this  time  o'  night  along  of  a  gentle- 
man ?  " 

'  Very  well,"  said  Tristram,  "  you  go  on  first,  and  I'll 
follow  and  keep  an  eye  on  you.  You'll  feel  safe  enough 
that  way." 

"Go  along!"  she  said,  "ye  don't  mean  it.  I'll  get 
Tom." 

She  went  across  to  her  fallen  swain  and  lugged  him 
by  the  arm.  "  Come  along,  Tom,"  said  she.  '  My  new 
man  says  you  got  to  take  me  'ome.  If  you  don't,  'e  will, 
'e  says.  So  now  ye  know.  I  wras  asking  ye  to  come  half- 
an-hour  ago." 

The  bumpkin  thus  addressed  sat  up,  fuddled  and  truc- 
ulent. "  G'on  !  "  said  he  at  last.  '  You  talk !  who  pushed 
me  down  'ere  ?  " 

"  You  done  it  ye'self ;  you  run  ye'self  and  me  slam  into 
'im,  as  'e  wras  comin'  along." 

"  Oh  yes,  and  who've  you  bin  dauncin'  writh  ever  since  ? 
You  bring  'un  on  'ere;  I'll  gie  'un  what  for!  " 

He  refused  still  to  get  up  at  her  bidding,  calling  out 
for  his  rival  to  come  and  have  his  measure  taken ; 
wouldn't  have  anything  more  to  do  with  her  till  he'd 
met  the  other  man  square. 

Without  further  ado  she  loosed  hold  of  him.  "  You 
must  get  'im  for  ye'self  then,"  she  said.  "  Tell  ye,  I'm 
goin'  'ome  now  along  of  'im." 


26o  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

She  left  her  man  sitting  quite  helpless,  and  cantered 
back  to  Tristram.  "  All  right,  Master,"  she  said,  "  I  be 
all  ready  to  start.  Tom's  got  too  much  liquor  in  'im ;  'e 
won't  be  home  to-night,  I  know;  I'll  come!  You  got  to 
go  be'ind,  though,  if  anybody's  a-looking ;  I  won't  be  seen 
along  of  you." 

The  Tramp  took  her  at  her  word,  letting  her  range 
ahead;  so  they  started.  When  they  got  into  the  next 
field  he  saw  that  they  were  behind  the  hour  when  modesty 
should  be  abroad;  human  conduct  was  doffing  its  day- 
light disguise.  Keeping  his  eyes  straight  he  beheld  Polly 
with  unconcerned  air  roaming  in  front  of  him,  head  this 
way  and  that,  a  well-instructed  child  of  Nature. 

Beyond  the  next  boundary  she  began  to  slacken  her 
pace ;  Tristram  did  likewise.  Finding  that  he  measured 
his  movements  by  hers,  she  sat  down  on  the  bar  of  the 
next  stile  to  wait  for  him  to  come  up. 

"  Now,  Polly,  get  on  with  you !  "  he  called,  having  a 
wish  to  step  out  fast  and  be  rid  of  the  ruck  in  which  he 
found  himself. 

"  I  think  I'll  go  back  for  Tom,"  she  answered. 

"  Better  not,"  Tristram  advised  her.  "  He  won't  be 
any  the  less  off  his  legs  when  you  get  back  to  him." 

"  I'm  going  back,  though,"  she  repeated ;  "  I  don't  like 
walking  alone." 

"  You'll  have  to  do  the  going  back  alone,  then,"  he 
told  her.    "  Settle  that  for  yourself.    I'm  going  on." 

The  girl  sidled  on  her  seat.  "  It's  lonesome  goin'  like 
this,"  she  said,  "  and  I  ought  to  go  and  see  as  nobody  gets 
hold  of  'im.  I  ain't  kissed  'im.  I  ain't  said  good-night 
to  'im ;  and  'e's  been  spending  a  lot  on  me." 

"  Do  that  another  time,"  suggested  her  companion. 

"  D'you  want  me  to  come  along  o'  you,  then  ?  " 

"  It's  quite  the  best  thing  you  can  do  now." 

"  All  right,"  said  the  girl.    "  Give  me  a  kiss,  and  I  will." 


BEMBRIDGE    FAIR  261 

"  I'll  see  you  further  first!  "  was  his  smart  parry. 

"  Where  to?    Where  are  you  going  to  take  me?  " 

"Just  to  the  near  end  of  the  village;  you  will  be  all 
right  then." 

The  girl  got  up  sullenly  and  walked  on.  Only  one 
stile  further,  she  sat  down  again  to  remark :  "  You've 
promised,  'aven't  you  ?  " 

"  Promised  what?" 

"  When  you've  seen  me  further." 

"  So  have  you  ;  you  promised  me  you'd  go  home.  Don't 
take  all  night  about  it !  " 

"All  night?  No,  I've  me  character  to  think  of.  You 
think  I  'aven't  ?  " 

"  Walk,  don't  think !  "  said  Tristram. 

"  My  dress  is  torn,"  was  her  complaint ;  "  it  wants 
pinning,  I  can't  reach  it  for  myself." 

He  took  the  pins  and  did  the  thing  for  her.  That 
operation  concluded,  she  moved  on  at  her  own  slow 
walking-rate. 

"  Won't  you  come  alongside  now  ? "  she  asked  him 
presently.     "  There  ain't  nobody  about." 

"  Oh,  anything  to  get  you  on !  "  He  took  her  arm  and 
pushed  to  quicken  her  pace. 

"  Now,  you  are  pinching !  "  she  complained. 

"  I  shall  do  it  more,  if  you  don't  come  faster." 

She  fell  at  once  into  a  steady  rallantando  to  lure  him 
into  an  exercise  of  the  force  he  had  threatened. 

He  got  her  to  walk  at  last  by  going  ahead  of  her. 
Behind  his  back  she  started  gabbling. 

"  Oh,  my!  it  do  make  me  laugh  to  think  of  it!  "  she 
declared.  "  Won't  Emma  and  Jane  be  jealous  when  I 
tell  'em  of  this  ?  They're  both  sweet  on  you ;  in  church 
they  looks  at  you  through  their  'ands,  and  under  their 
'ymnbooks  out  of  the  gallery,  they  do!  Haven't  ye  ever 
looked  up  and  caught  'em  doin'  it?" 


262  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

Tristram  said  he  would  be  on  the  look-out  the  next 
Sunday. 

"  Lor',  you  are  good,"  she  said,  heaving  a  sigh,  "  going 
so  reg'lar !  " 

"  Plenty  of  people  are  good,  if  you  go  by  that." 

"  I  goes  for  the  singing,"  she  explained;  "  I  feels  good 
when  a  'ymn's  bein'  sung.     Don't  you?" 

"  That's  what  the  hymns  are  for,"  replied  Tristram. 

"But,"  continued  the  introspective  damsel,  'I  feels 
just  as  bad  again  on  the  Monday.  It  don't  carry  one 
over  the  week." 

"  Not  over  fair-day,  perhaps." 

"And  there's  Mr.  Raymond,"  she  went  on;  "  'e  goes 
reg'lar  too.     Ain't  he  a  beauty  ?  " 

"  I'll  tell  him  you  say  so,"  laughed  her  companion. 

So,  by  humouring  her  in  her  talk,  he  got  her  at  last  to 
the  point  where,  with  a  good  conscience,  he  could  leave 
her  to  her  own  devices.  He  turned  then  to  bid  her  good- 
night, and  without  more  ado  was  ridding  her  of  his 
company.    "  Here  you  are  home,"  said  he. 

She  started  whimpering  at  once,  and  put  up  a  protesting 
face.  "I'll  not  go;  no,  I'll  not!  So  now  then!"  was 
her  resolute  avowal.  "  Not  till  you've  give  me  what  you 
promised.  You've  called  me  names  all  the  way  along, 
you  'ave!  I  know  you  meant  to  be  nasty  to  me.  You 
think  I'm  bad." 

"  I  think  you'd  be  better  at  home." 

"  Give  me  one,  then,  and  I'll  go!  " 

Tristram  dropped  her  an  indifferent  brief  salute.  She 
smacked  her  lips  in  air,  a  fish  missing  its  fly.  "  That 
don't  count!"  she  declared. 

"  Polly,"  said  the  youth  more  soberly  than  he  felt, 
"  you've  been  very  silly  to-night.  Now  run  along ;  you 
ought  to  be  in  bed !  "  He  gave  her  a  second  peck  to  the 
fair  cheek,  and  put  her  away  from  him. 


BEMBRIDGE    FAIR  263 

"  Call  that  a  kiss?"  cried  the  aggrieved  damsel. 
"  Why,  you  done  it  with  your  chin,  you  did !  I  ain't  bad, 
I'm  weak,  just!  A  man  might  do  anything  with  me  if  he 
only  knew." 

Tristram's  second  "  Good-night "  was  decisive,  coming 
with  the  sound  of  his  departing  footsteps. 

"  And  he  calls  hisself  a  gentleman !  "  was  Polly's  quaint 
meditation  as  she  arrived  solitary  at  her  own  door,  to 
find  her  mother  already  asleep  and  snoring,  and  her  sisters 
not  yet  returned.  Two  miles  away  her  derelict  lover  lay 
consoling  himself  in  the  field  where  the  rasp  of  the 
fiddlers  had  ceased.  Over  Bembridge  and  the  ashes  of 
its  feast,  the  sky  leaned  sultry  and  lowering ;  St.  Swithin, 
with  suspended  purpose,  hung  a  coppery  black  mantle 
across  the  night. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

A    CONFLICT    OF    THE    ELEMENTS 

A  T  the  top  of  the  first  rise  on  his  now  solitary  road, 
Tristram  paused  to  gain  the  companionship  of 
night.  He  began  to  take  in  deep  breaths  from  a  still 
atmosphere ;  the  balm  he  sought  was  not  there.  A  day 
of  close  contact  with  perspiring  humanity,  his  evening's 
carouse  with  Farmer  Duffin  and  his  thirsty  set,  the  cir- 
cumstances of  the  way  back  from  Bembridge,  had  laid 
a  tarnish  on  body  and  soul  which  they  were  hard  put  to 
to  shake  off.  Not  a  breath  from  the  four  quarters  of 
heaven  would  come  to  his  rescue.  From  where  he  stood 
he  could  see  the  glow-worm  lights  of  Bembridge  low 
down  among  the  ridge  of  fields  by  which  he  had  come, 
those  fields  so  filled  to-night  with  sunken  humanity;  a 
faint  blare  of  music  still  came  up  from  the  town,  to  tell 
where  the  revelry  was  dying  hard.  His  mind's  eye 
carried  him  back  to  the  scene  he  had  quitted,  where  riot- 
ous flesh  stood  on  its  last  leg  and  crowed  against  decent 
retirement  and  repose,  and  thence  to  the  muffled  field- 
path  along  which  he  and  Polly  had  steered  their  way 
home.  Something  of  the  Bacchanal  was  in  his  nature, 
prompting  him,  when  he  saw  others  roll,  to  roll  likewise ; 
so,  as  he  stood  and  looked  back  over  these  leavings  and 
dregs  of  beast-man's  entertainment  of  himself,  things 
wrestled  this  way  and  that  for  the  hot  or  cold  possession 
of  his  mind. 

264 


A    CONFLICT    OF    THE    ELEMENTS    265 

Presently,  with  a  laugh,  he  threw  himself  abruptly 
into  action,  and  ran,  turning  his  back  on  the  lights  of 
hamlet  and  town.  Even  the  hedgerows  on  either  side 
seemed  to  hamper  his  mood  for  free  air.  He  leapt  a 
fence,  heard  the  swish  of  deep  clover  under  his  feet,  and 
at  last  felt  solitude. 

Over  the  undulating  obscurity  ahead  night  flowed  out 
to  meet  him ;  breathless  she  lay  against  his  cheek,  accom- 
panying him  as  he  ran.  Far  off  he  heard  sounds  of  her 
—  she  was  still  there  by  his  side. 

Over  the  dubious  horizon  of  woods  to  the  north  crept 
a  faint  suspicion  of  light ;  its  ghostly  passage  did  but 
deepen  the  sense  of  slumber  in  the  mass  which  gave 
cover  by  day  to  so  much  song.  Lone,  and  harshly  inter- 
rogating, a  night-bird  here  and  there  lifted  its  cry.  A  late 
cuckoo  surprised  him  with  one  clear  unbroken  note,  as 
though  the  night  air  were  good  for  its  voice,  —  a  solitary, 
surely  left  over  from  its  true  month  of  song.  The  scent 
of  recently  stacked  hay  drew  across  in  a  sudden  hot  puff 
of  wind  from  the  slopes  above.  In  the  hollows  pockets  of 
cooler  air  waited  to  receive  him ;  he  dived  and  came 
out  again.  From  a  body  strangely  at  home  in  the  dubious- 
ness of  surrounding  shadow,  his  senses  put  out  hands  to 
the  oppressed  and  drowsy  atmosphere. 

Taking  a  short  cut  to  his  objective  he  leaped  a  high 
fence,  and  could  hear  presently  the  noise  of  water  falling 
from  the  upper  to  the  lower  of  the  Hill  Alwyn  ponds, 
and  the  splash  and  rustle  of  disturbed  water-fowl.  The 
wood  was  heavy  with  the  smell  of  the  damp  corrupt  heat 
that  had  stagnated  there  through  the  day.  As  he  entered 
its  deepening  archway  the  Tramp  became  aware  that  St. 
Swithin's  attentions  were  imminent :  above  the  lattice  of 
boughs  went  a  faint  play  of  light,  and  he  heard  from  a 
far  distance  a  deeply  muttered  roll.  A  more  conscious 
stillness  seemed  then  to  take  hold  of  mother-earth,  a  listen- 


266  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

ing  for  stealthy  hands  at  work  undoing  the  bolts  and  bars 
of  her  hushed  dwelling. 

Arrived  at  the  lower  pool  where  the  water  went  deepest 
over  a  smooth  bottom,  Tristram  pushed  his  way  through 
high  weeds  and  hazel,  then  over  an  oozy  edge  of  bulrush 
till  he  reached  the  side  of  the  boat-house.  Without 
troubling  over  the  door-hasp,  he  scrambled  his  way  along 
the  skirting,  got  his  foot  on  to  a  pile  beside  the  entrance, 
and  by  a  dexterous  push  landed  himself  on  the  fore-part 
of  the  punt  there  moored.  He  pulled  deep  breaths,  quite 
winded  by  the  speed  of  his  coming. 

Within  the  shed  hung  pitchy  blackness,  obscuring  en- 
tirely the  two  boats  at  the  further  end;  under  the  zinc 
roof  remained  the  close  warmth  of  the  day's  heat ;  the 
proximity  of  water-weeds  on  the  pond's  surface  permeated 
the  shelter  with  a  faint  unclean  odour.  Without  entering 
further  the  Tramp  stood  up  on  the  beak  of  the  punt  and 
disrobed.  To  an  observer  from  within  his  movements 
must  have  been  easily  apparent  during  the  short  minute 
occupied  by  the  process ;  his  slight  athletic  figure  showed 
out  dark  against  the  deadened  silver  of  waters  midway 
between  gloom  and  gleam,  over  which  there  passed  now 
and  then  washes  and  flicks  of  a  mysterious  light. 

Having  reached  the  ultimate  stage  of  naturalness,  Tris- 
tram took  footing  on  the  extreme  verge  of  his  standing- 
place,  drew  himself  high,  arched,  leaned,  dipped  over,  and 
disappeared  with  a  soft  crash  into  the  coolness  below. 

The  water  poured  over  him  with  welcoming  rush  as 
his  body  shot  out  from  the  bank ;  down  he  went  and 
down ;  such  delicious  cold  embraced  him,  he  wished  never 
to  rise. 

Suddenly,  as  he  still  dived,  enchantment  opened  round 
him  :  all  beneath  him  became  vivid,  illuminated,  moving. 
Refore  his  gaze  the  pool's  bed  was  flicked  by  three  sharp 
shocks  of  light;  his  eye  took  in  ripple  of  weed,  spectral 


A    CONFLICT    OF    THE    ELEMENTS    267 

colour  of  darting  fish,  his  own  shadow  frog-like  and  huge 
moving  under  him  with  antic  gesture,  a  whole  under- 
world alive  with  uncouth  form,  scattering  away  in  panic 
motion  as  he  charged. 

Only  for  a  moment ;  the  vision  vanished.  He  rose  in 
time  to  hear  the  rattling  tail  of  the  thunder,  and  to  feel 
the  first  huge  drops  of  storm  descending  over  the 
pond. 

Antaeus  had  found  his  play-fellow.  The  rain  lashed 
him  over  head  and  face  as  seeking  to  drown  what  re- 
mained of  him  in  air ;  thunder  battered  its  applause, 
lightnings  came  straight-hurled  against  the  broad  target 
of  grey  water  that  held  him  safe ;  in  livid  shocks  the  sur- 
rounding trees  seemed  to  break  out  into  green  flame,  and 
every  rushing  rain-drop  to  become  a  tongue  of  fire.  On 
the  island  a  single  pine  toppled  and  crashed  down :  Tris- 
tram beheld  it,  cleft  from  crest  to  base,  and  felt  that  for 
the  first  time  he  had  seen  thunder.  He  shouted  and  sang 
like  a  madman  as  he  swam  up  and  down  in  the  splendour 
of  the  storm :  a  strange  sound  for  ears  that  listened  under 
cover  of  the  rain-beaten  wood. 

Two,  a  man  and  a  woman,  stood  watching  the  vertical 
mist  of  water  that  sheathed  itself  in  the  pond,  crossed  now 
and  again  by  quick  shuttles  of  fire ;  they  could  hear  the 
bather's  voice  making  uncanny  music  from  the  other  side 
of  the  island ;  neither  he  nor  the  thunder  seemed  to  tire. 
Vexation  and  amusement  showed  itself  in  the  tones  of  the 
one  who  spoke  first. 

"  What  a  scatter-brained  devil  it  is !  Just  hark  at  the 
idiot !  "  said  he. 

"It's  Mr.  Tristram!  Oh,  if  he  sees  us!"  came  from 
the  other  in  a  deeply  troubled  voice. 

"  He  won't  see  us,"  said  her  companion,  holding  her 
hands  fast.  Still  she  wished  at  once  to  get  away,  and 
was  urgent  that  they  should  start. 


268  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

"How  can  we,"  he  demanded,  "in  this  rain?  Move 
and  you'll  get  drenched."' 

'  No,"  she  said,  "  1  can't  hear  it ;  for  us  to  he  here,  — 
and  him.  It  'ud  hurt  him;  can't  you  feel  what  I  mean? 
1  wish  we  had  never  come  !  " 

"What,  sorry  already?"  his  lips  were  sentinels  over 
hers. 

'  No,  no!  "  she  pressed  her  face  upon  his.  "  I  can't  be 
that;  not  in  the  way  you  mean.  But  1  am,  I  am!  I  feel, 
seeing  him,  that  I've  done  you  and  him  and  myself  a 
wrong.  There'll  be  always  something  to  hide  now.  That's 
what  hurts  me!  " 

"  Good  things  have  often  to  hide  themselves  in  this 
world  ;  it's  a  hard  place,  full  of  fools  and  hypocrites." 

"  He's  neither,"  said  the  girl. 

"  Nor  are  you;  nor  am  I  more  than  1  need  be.  Ah, 
come,  come !  You  are  my  own  girl,  you  know.  Not  in 
all  the  world  is  there  another."  He  had  her  fast,  and  felt 
then  the  sobbing  she  had  kept  silent. 

She  clung  close  to  protest  her  love  while  yet  having 
another  thing  to  say.  "  Oh,  Ray,  Ray,  T  love  'e !  "  she 
breathed,  and  had  difficulty  to  get  on.  "  It's  this,"  she 
said  at  last,  "  I  can't  ever  he  sorry  to  have  found  you ; 
you  was  my  own  man  from  the  beginning ;  I  can't  never 
change.  But  I  do  know  how  it  must  end.  I  can  on'y 
please  'e  for  a  little  while ;  there's  not  that  in  me  to  keep 
'e  true,  though  you  may  think  it  now !  I  know  T've 
done  wrong,  though  I  can't  ever  repent  of  it.  Do  'e 
remember  that;  don't  ever  blame  yourself  when  the  time 
comes !  " 

"  You'll  have  to  name  the  time,  Liz,  not  I,"  said  Ray- 
mond, and  felt  that  he  had  spoken  hut  a  bare  truth. 

"  Ah,  no !  "  she  cried,  "  it  won't  be,  it  can't  be !  Never, 
never!  " 

She  drew  his  hand  into  her  bosom.  "  Let  us  go!  "  she 
urged  again. 


A    CONFLICT    OF    THE    ELEMENTS    269 

Raymond  yielded  to  her  longing  to  get  away,  and 
accompanied  her  through  the  drenching  thickets  over 
which  the  rain  still  rattled,  or  hroke  past  in  sudden  cas- 
cades. It  seemed  almost  a  drowned  woman  he  held  in 
his  arms  when  they  were  parting  at  the  narrow  footway 
leading  up  to  her  home.  He  could  but  guess  from  the 
heaving  of  her  breast  that  the  moisture  he  kissed  from 
her  face  was  not  all  rain. 

;'  Not  sorry?  promise  me  you  are  not  that !  "  he  said. 

She  did  so  faithfully,  though  her  tones  belied  her 
words. 

'  It's  like  a  woman,"  said  Raymond  to  himself  as  he 
went  his  own  way  alone.  "  Give  her  one  thing  and  she 
always  wants  another."  He  spoke  as  though  a  whole 
world  of  experience  had  brought  him  to  the  knowledge  ; 
the  pretence  of  such  cold  philosophy  eased  his  heart  of  a 
small  ache  he  already  had  over  her.  "  I  love  her !  "  he 
protested  to  himself  if  ever  a  doubt  recurred,  and  bat- 
tered his  pillow  with  that  when  divided  thought  threat- 
ened his  slumber.  Tristram's  mad  shouting  at  the  weather 
was  the  sedative  his  brain  finally  held  fast  by.  Conscience 
forbade  sound  slumber  while  his  thoughts  were  fixed  on 
the  woman  who  had  so  utterly  committed  her  future  to 
his  hands. 

As  for  Tristram,  though  his  suspicions  went  wide  of 
the  mark,  he  had  reason  to  guess  that  he  had  not  been 
the  sole  visitor  that  night  to  the  Hill  Alwyn  woods. 
Coming  up  out  of  the  Water,  he  noticed  how  the  boat- 
house  door  lay  wide,  that  he  had  passed  closed ;  and  as 
he  trod  within  came  on  a  little  scarf,  evidently  of  woman's 
wear.  The  faint  play  of  now  distancing  lightning  was 
not  enough  to  show  him  either  the  colour  or  the  pattern. 
It  was  no  business  of  his ;  thinking  it  might  be,  likelv 

OCT  »■ 

enough,  of  MacAllister's.  he  threw  it  upon  a  pile  of  boat 
cushions,  where,  as  chance  would  have  it,  that  worthy 


2J0  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

found  it  a  day  or  two  after,  lie  recognised  it  at  once; 
and  putting  that  by  other  things,  kept  it  to  strengthen 
him  in  an  opinion  already  formed  on  grounds  which  he 
thought  adequate. 

The  next  day  the  Tramp  had  left  the  neighbourhood, 
to  follow  as  Lady  Petwyn's  guest  a  fresh  freak  on  his 
path  to  perdition  or  salvation.  Not  till  the  late  autumn 
did  he  return  again.  Raymond  had  by  then  gone  off  for 
his  final  year  at  Oxford.  Old  Haycraft  was  indefinitely 
away  :  where,  Lizzie  herself  did  not  know.  He  got  rest- 
less, she  told  Tristram,  and  finally  went  off,  bidding  her 
expect  him  when  she  saw  him :  he  might  be  back  again 
by  Christmas;  if  not  she  would  look  for  him  in  the 
spring.  Something  of  the  sort  she  had  long  reckoned 
might  happen.  He  had  always  told  her  of  the  wish  he 
had  to  be  once  more  amongst  those  he  had  long  lived 
with,  before  going  underground  for  good.  '■  And  since 
his  illness,"  said  she,  "  he  thinks  he  ain't  got  so  many 
years  to  live  as  he  used  to  reckon  for." 

She  spoke  indifferently ;  from  her  manner  it  would 
have  been  difficult  to  guess  that  there  was,  between 
father  and  daughter,  a  strong  bond  of  affection ;  it  lay 
deeper  than  words.  Tristram  learned  that  money  came 
from  him  at  regular  intervals,  bearing  various  post  marks 
but  no  address.  Lizzie  welcomed  the  remittances  when 
they  came  merely  as  evidence  of  her  father's  wellbeing. 
She  had  known  early  how  to  work  for  her  own  living, 
and  was  free,  as  she  told  Tristram,  to  leave  the  cottage 
shut  up  and  go  out  into  service  if  she  choose:  the  old 
man  made  no  claim  for  her  to  stay  and  keep  watch  for 
his  return. 

A  strange  pair  their  neighbours  thought  them,  and  for 
their  strangeness  left  them  very  much  alone.  Tristram 
wished  he  himself  could  be  as  detached  from  the  fixed 
and  hampering  circumstances  of  life.    For  him  it  seemed 


A    CONFLICT    OF    THE    ELEMENTS    271 

that  was  never  to  be :  business  again  made  its  clutch  at 
him. 

Brother  and  sister  exchanged  looks  of  friendly  intelli- 
gence on  their  first  meeting.  She  admired  the  ruddy 
glare  of  his  skin,  called  it  clay-colour,  and  wishing  to 
know  what  condition  of  body  went  with  it,  found  muscles 
like  door-knobs  to  her  fingers.  For  a  drawback  the  crea- 
ture was  slightly  rheumatic.  She  knew  enough  of  his 
ways  to  guess  how  he  had  come  by  that ;  he  was  one  who 
to  warm  his  two  hands  would  have  preferred  a  prairie  fire 
to  a  hot  potato,  and,  put  to  the  test  of  open-air  bathing 
all  the  winter,  would  claim  to  have  it  with  the  ice  on. 
So  when  his  aim  was  to  be  like  Nebuchadnezzar,  the  more 
did  he  require  the  dews  of  heaven  to  descend  on  him. 
The  variations  of  the  autumn  season  made  him  happy ; 
he  paid  his  penalty  cheerfully  through  the  winter  fol- 
lowing. 

He  brought  but  little  social  news  to  his  elders  concern- 
ing his  visit,  beyond  quoting  the  names  of  those  who 
had  been  of  Lady  Petwyn's  house-party.  Some  of  these 
appeared  again  that  same  winter  at  Hill  Alwyn,  coming 
for  a  sort  of  hunt  ball  into  which  at  about  Christmas  the 
dame  chose  suddenly  to  throw  all  her  energies.  Tris- 
tram went  to  it  growling,  submitting  to  its  polish  and 
flummery  for  the  sake  of  Marcia,  who  declared  herself 
now  a  victim  to  pins  and  needles  in  her  feet  whenever 
her  ear  caught  music.  Certain  it  was  that  the  spring 
and  whirl  of  the  dance  brought  out  her  beauty  and  charm  ; 
she  missed  nothing  over  a  stretch  of  four  hours,  yet 
emerged  from  the  carriage  on  their  return  the  freshest  of 
the  party.  Raymond  also  was  there,  another  of  active 
ones,  finding  in  her  a  partner  who  also  danced  "  for  exer- 
cise," and  to  get  rid  of  super-abundant  energy. 

Mr.  Beresford  Gavney  went  less  for  exercise  than  for 
the  atmospheric  influences  of  a  function  that  had  about 


272  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

it  the  mystic  flavour  of  "  county."     Lady  Petwyn  was 

handsome  in  her  introductions,  and  was  herself  gracious 
to  him  in  her  own  off-hand  fashion.  He  also  talked  to  a 
Lady  Tetheridge,  who  remembered  acquaintance  with  his 
wife  in  their  maiden  days.  He  presumed  to  remember 
that  she  had  met  him  also  at  the  time  when  he  had  been 
fluttering  into  the  gentle  passion  that  brought  him  his 
mate ;  and  she  let  him  see  that  it  was  with  no  displeasure 
that  she  met  him  again.  She  confessed  to  a  frank  interest 
in  his  son.  With  hesitation  he  said :  "  I  am  relieved  to 
hear  it.  I  thought  you  must  disapprove  of  him  when  I 
heard  you  calling  him  '  the  ploughboy.'  " 

"  Ah,"  she  said,  "  that  is  a  pet  name  for  him,  meaning 
exactly  the  opposite,  as  is  the  way  with  pet  names.  He 
is  eccentric.  I  admire  your  courage  in  letting  him  have 
his  run.    As  a  result  he  is  adorable." 

Mr.  Gavney  doubted  whether  "  adorable "  were  a 
morally  right  word  for  a  lady  to  apply  to  a  young  man  ; 
but  coming  from  Lady  Tetheridge,  the  wife  of  a  county 
magnate,  the  adoration  and  the  pet  name  were  acceptable 
testimonials  to  his  son's  progress. 

The  merchant  had  grounds  for  thinking  that  the  three 
months'  leisure  granted  to  his  son  had  not  been  thrown 
away,  if  it  led  to  amenities  such  as  these.  He  left  the 
ball  highly  pleased ;  and  instructed :  '  Ploughboy,"  he 
was  glad  to  understand,  used  as  a  pet  name,  meant 
"  exactly  the  opposite."  For  a  week  afterwards  Tristram 
felt  the  weight  of  a  benevolent  eye.  He  feared  lest  in 
some  way  his  business  capacity  had  earned  it.  "  Lon- 
don "  came  to  be  the  dreaded  word  ;  there  hung,  like  the 
sword  of  Damocles,  over  all  their  conversations,  a  date 
waiting  to  be  named. 

Tender  thoughts  of  his  mother  for  ever  hampered  him ; 
his  father's  wish  he  knew  would  be  hers,  and  might  be 
wrought  on  to  become  passionate.      '  You  will  not  dis- 


A    CONFLICT    OF    THE    ELEMENTS    273 

appoint  us  all,"  he  foresaw  already  would  be  the  darling, 
helpless,  powerful  woman's  argument,  the  inferred 
reproach  she  would  bring  against  him.  But  for  her  how 
much  more  possible  would  it  be  to  possess  himself,  and 
say  no  to  things  for  which  life  least  fitted  him. 


CHAPTER   XXIII 

A    CHAPTER    OF     MISUNDERSTANDINGS 

"D  AYMOND  returned  to  Lizzie  with  his  pride  set  on 
convincing-  her  that  absence  had  not  made  him 
cease  to  be  the  devout  lover.  In  the  process  of  battering 
his  heart  back  to  the  early  stage  of  its  passion  he  took 
vehemence  for  his  guarantee ;  and  with  that  salved  his 
conscience. 

He  swore  to  himself  still,  without  conscious  dishonesty, 
that  the  girl  was  all  to  him  ;  the  thought  of  her  kept  him 
from  many  plans  for  his  future ;  could  there  be  a  better 
proof?  The  only  plan  that  had  existed  for  him  in  any 
one's  mind  was  now  at  an  end,  thanks  to  her.  He  told 
his  father  bluntly  at  last  that  the  Church  was  no  place 
for  him  ;  and  only  from  a  hard  sense  of  duty  consented 
to  go  on  and  try  for  his  degree.  Such  plans  as  were  in 
his  head,  then,  when  he  went  Lizzie's  way  the  day  after 
his  return,  did  but  concern  the  months  immediately  to 
follow. 

He  broached  them  to  the  girl  of  his  heart ;  her  present 
loneliness,  and  the  uncertainty  of  her  father's  return  all 
fitted  in  with  the  fine  scheme  he  propounded.  Put  shortly 
it  ran  thus:  here  was  Lizzie,  there  was  he;  and  why? 
when  in  all  parts  of  England,  and  not  least  in  Oxford- 
shire, small  cottages  were  to  be  had.  If  she  were  free  to 
go  into  service,  let  her  come  to  him  —  somewhere,  as  he 
phrased  it,  where  he  could  look  after  her. 

274 


MISUNDERSTANDINGS  275 

He  pressed  his  scheme  with  the  more  ardour  when  he 
found  that  Lizzie  was  utterly  set  against  it ;  inarticulately 
hostile,  she  could  give  no  reason.  '  No,  no,  Ray,  be 
content  to  let  me  stay  where  I  am !  "  she  answered  to  all 
his  tender  entreaties,  and  at  last  fell  back  upon  silence 
which  he  took  for  mule  obstinacy.  He,  the  headier 
animal,  the  grosser,  missed  altogether  the  subtle  dis- 
tinction made  by  the  girl's  sensitive  mind  between  the 
freedom  of  her  surrender  among  home  surroundings,  and 
the  conditions  to  which  her  transplanting  would  bring  her 
down. 

She  gave  herself  to  him  with  the  more  passionate  sub- 
mission now,  because  her  very  love  forced  her  to  hold 
out  on  a  matter  which  she  could  not  argue.  Yet  when- 
ever he  renewed  the  proposal  she  seemed  to  shrink  from 
his  tenderness.  So,  throughout  that  month  of  passion, 
Raymond  perceived  in  her  shades  of  variableness ;  and 
seeing  how  she  denied  to  herself  and  to  him  a  logical 
fulfilment  of  their  relation,  began  in  dudgeon  to  question 
the  constancy  of  her  love  rather  than  his  own. 

Charged  to  look  him  in  the  face  and  say  at  their  last 
meeting  why  she  was  determined  that  it  should  be  so, 
she  showed  an  unaccountable  depth  of  distress,  and  at  last 
told  him  haltingly  that  it  was  because  she  loved  him 
better  here  than  she  could  there.  It  was  the  nearest 
she  could  get  to  the  truth  he  was  too  slow  to  feel. 

"  I've  my  own  way  of  life  here,"  she  murmured,  "  and 
you  love  me  now  just  for  what  I  am.  It  wouldn't  be  so 
if  we  was  away  together  in  a  strange  place.  Let  it  be 
as  it  is.  I'll  be  proud,  Ray,  to  think  you  miss  me  some- 
times ;  not  more,  it  won't  be,  than  I  miss  you  every 
time  I  lose  sight  of  'e,  when  maybe  it's  on'y  for  a  few 
hours." 

When  he  said  good-bye  she  kept  mute  hold  of  him, 
sensible  of  a  disapproval  she  could  not  avert. 


276  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

'  What  may  I  take,  then  ?  "  he  asked  reproachfully  at 
being  robbed  of  his  way,  and  as  though  he  had  found  her 
to  be  a  grudging  giver. 

"  Oh,  my  dear,  take  me  life  with  'e !  "  she  cried.  "  I'd 
lie  down  at  your  feet  and  die  now,  if  that  could  give  'e 
any  happiness  !  There  :  take  that,  if  it  can  be  any  pleasure 
to  'e !  "  She  let  down  her  dark  hair  into  his  hands,  and 
bade  him  have  what  he  liked  of  it.  Then  seeing  how  little 
he  was  about  to  take,  denied  him  that,  and  herself  cut  off 
a  great  strand  close  up  to  the  temple,  causing  disfigure- 
ment by  the  prodigality  of  the  gift. 

Raymond,  from  that  last  sight  resolved  a  belief  that 
only  a  little  waiting  and  the  right  word  were  needed  to 
give  him  the  mastery  his  pride  required. 

So  on  his  return  to  College  he  sent  an  ardent  order  to 
her  to  come,  kind,  firm,  vehement,  considerate,  peremp- 
tory ;  and  was  astonished  to  receive  an  unyielding  nega- 
tive. The  poor  girl,  too  sure  of  her  own  honesty  of  intent, 
injured  herself  in  Ins  eyes  now,  by  softening  the  word 
with  excuses  which  touched  little  on  her  true  feeling  in 
the  matter.  Her  master,  discerning  subterfuge,  began  to 
steel  himself  against  her;  so  far  at  least  as  letter-writing 
went  he  kept  to  the  note  of  his  decree ;  if  for  a  few 
months  they  were  to  be  separated,  against  his  will  and 
to  suit  hers,  it  did  his  pride  some  good  to  make  sure  that 
she  suffered  for  it.  How  much  she  suffered  he  was  not 
to  learn  till  he  had  greatly  changed  his  opinion  of  her. 

During  the  lonely  discomfort  of  the  next  few  months 
Lizzie  had  to  bear  the  renewal  of  a  certain  persecution 
she  had  before  suffered  from.  She  had  too  high  a  spirit 
to  let  herself  be  harassed  by  the  mere  folly  of  an  unwel- 
come admirer;  but  when  patience  was  passed,  gipsy  blood 
came  uppermost,  and  she  was  keen  to  try  a  fall  with  her 
persecutor. 

Her  shortest  road  to  and  from  the  Vicarage,  whither 


MISUNDERSTANDINGS  277 

she  went  twice  each  week  to  fetch  and  bring  again  the 
household  laundry,  lay  along  the  right-of-way  over  the 
Hill  Alwyn  estate.  There  MacAllister,  aware  of  her 
regular  transits,  was  accustomed  to  waylay  her.  That  she 
had  been  forced  at  last  to  choose  daylight  for  her  goings 
was  the  circumstance  that  did  most  wounding  to  her 
pride,  seeming  to  accord  to  a  foot-pad  the  compliment 
of  a  fear  she  did  not  feel.  It  was  merely  her  strong  dis- 
taste for  his  persistent  company  that  made  her  select 
the  hours  when  he  was  most  likely  to  be  employed,  or 
when  danger  of  interruption  would  drive  him  from  the 
game. 

In  addition  to  her  basket,  she  took  to  carrying  a  small 
bag  slung  from  her  waist.  The  suspicious  bailiff  noting 
the  fact,  and  having  plenty  of  will  to  be  unpleasant,  chose 
to  assume  that  she  was  a  pilferer,  hiding  ill-gotten  hoards 
picked  off  the  estate.  One  day  he  demanded  to  know 
what  she  had  there,  under  the  dry  leaves  covering  the 
sack's  mouth. 

"  Ferrets,"  she  told  him  with  a  high-headed  directness 
that  convinced  him  she  lied.  She  carried  her  basket 
piled  with  white  linen,  and  being  so  hampered,  it  was 
easy  for  him  to  make  a  dart  on  the  thing  she  concealed. 
A  single  deep  thrust  of  his  hand  convinced  him  only  too 
painfully  that  she  had  spoken  truth ;  her  laugh,  mis- 
chievous and  triumphant,  told  him  another  thing,  that 
the  trap  had  been  planned.  The  big  man  stood  up  before 
her  at  white  heat.  For  a  moment  she  believed  he  was 
about  to  strike  her,  and  stood  braced.  He  chose  a 
shrewder  way.  Beside  himself  with  rage,  he  did  not  stint 
suddenly  to  tell  her  what  he  knew,  or  supposed  he  knew, 
about  her  character.  "In  a  few  months'  time  you  won't 
be  holding  yourself  so  high,  my  beauty !  " 

Outwardly  calm,  her  soul  took  in  panic  at  the  words. 
She   feared   that   his   malice   drew   its   inspiration   from 


278  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

actual  observation,  and  that  she  could  no  longer  front 
the  world  with  confidence  of  her  secret  remaining 
unperceived. 

With  quick  decision  on  arriving  at  the  Vicarage  she 
gave  notice  that  in  another  week  she  was  going  away 
out  of  the  neighbourhood  to  seek  service.  Bearing  home 
with  her  for  the  last  time  the  soiled  linen  that  awaited 
her  handling,  she  was  struck  with  a  strange  sense  of  deso- 
lation at  the  thought  that  in  quitting  her  home  she  was 
not  going  to  seek  her  lover. 

The  temptation  to  do  so  was  strong ;  she  fought  with 
it,  and,  twice  worsted,  sat  down  to  write  to  him.  But 
however  she  set  herself  to  words,  the  old  meaning  of 
the  thing  stared  her  in  the  face ;  to  go  to  him  there 
would  be,  she  was  sure,  to  go  down  in  his  estimation ; 
in  her  own,  too,  though  of  that  she  thought  less.  The 
sense  of  how  she  would  stand  in  his  eyes  made  her  hold 
herself  sacred. 

An  event  that  happened  during  what  she  intended  to 
be  her  last  week  at  home,  put  into  her  hands  a  means 
of  conveying  to  her  uncommunicating  lover  information 
that  she  felt  was  owing  him.  However  much  his  silence 
meant  offence  at  her  separation  from  him,  he  had  the 
right  to  know  what  her  circumstances  had  become. 

She  stood  one  brisk  February  morning  hanging  linen 
out  in  a  brief  glint  of  sunshine  that  fell  over  Randogtnr 
Edge  upon  the  wood-bounded  space  before  the  cottage, 
having  already  filled  the  hearth-line  indoors  with  as  many 
things  as  it  would  hold,  when  she  became  aware  of  a 
stranger,  who  had  halted  by  the  gate,  contemplating  her 
at  her  work.  Under  one  arm  he  carried  a  square  black 
box,  with  a  round  snout  or  eye  projecting  from  its 
surface:  and,  under  the  other,  a  sheathed  trestle  or 
tripod. 

The  amateur  of  the  picturesque  called  out  to  know  if 


MISUNDERSTANDINGS  279 

she  would  stand  and  be  taken.  Smiling'  her  consent,  she 
arranged  herself  as  he  directed  her. 

"  Hands  up !  "  he  told  her.  No,  she  must  show  her 
face !  He  set  up  his  camera,  so  that  her  figure,  tip-toeing 
to  reach  the  lines,  came  clear  against  the  dark  of  the 
open  doorway.  Presently  she  heard  screws  and  clicks, 
and  the  thing  was  done. 

'  There,  I  have  you !  "  exclaimed  the  photographer, 
regarding  his  subject  with  evident  admiration.  "If  it 
comes  out  well,  I'll  bring  you  a  copy,  when  I  pass  again 
in  a  day  or  two." 

She  thanked  him  for  the  offer ;  she  had  never  yet  been 
photographed,  and  to  possess  a  counterfeit  presentment 
of  herself  appealed  to  her  woman's  curiosity :  she  would 
be  able  to  see  herself  then  with  new  eyes.  But  having 
watched  the  stranger  pack  up  and  depart,  she  went  on 
with  her  drying,  and  thought  little  more  of  the  matter. 

A  little  after  dusk  that  same  evening,  her  father  strolled 
into  the  house  and  sat  down  in  his  accustomed  chair. 

"  Well,  Liz,  how  be  you  goin'  on  ?  "  was  the  single 
remark  with  which  he  announced  his  return.  The  girl's 
face  flushed  for  a  moment  with  pleasure  at  seeing  him ; 
but  in  her  answer  she  showed  no  more  emotion  than  he; 
each  settled  back  at  a  word  into  the  groove  of  habit 
which  the  old  man's  six  months'  absence  had  not  dis- 
turbed. He  had  already  been  up  in  the  coppice,  he  told 
her ;  coming  in  by  way  of  Randogger.  When  he  had 
asked  after  the  ferrets,  and  seen  that  his  guns  were  in 
proper  order,  nothing  was  said  or  done  to  show  that  he 
had  been  away  longer  than  from  the  day  before.  He 
seemed  hale  enough  to  his  daughter's  eye,  stronger  and 
better  set  up  than  the  year  before ;  now  and  then  some 
trick  in  his  speech  showed  he  had  been  hearing  other  talk 
from  that  about  Randogger  side ;  there  were  certain 
changes    also    in    his   attire    from    what    he   customarilv 


28o  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

wore,  though  with  him  winter  and  summer  made  but 
little  difference. 

When  they  had  finished  their  evening  meal  together, 
Lizzie,  to  make  him  a  special  welcome,  went  out  to  the 
wood-shed,  and  brought  in  some  large  faggots ;  with  these 
she  roused  a  smart  blaze,  that  threw  its  cheer  over  the 
low,  barely-furnished  room. 

After  laying  aside  the  supper  things  she  came  across 
and  sat  down  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  hearth  facing 
her  father.  She  pulled  out  some  mendings  and  had 
well  settled  herself  before  she  was  aware  that  the  old 
man's  eyes  were  fixed  on  her. 

"  Get  me  that  pipe  from  over  there,  my  wench,"  said 
he,  after  a  while,  speaking  slow. 

It  was  unlike  his  silent  ways  to  ask  for  anything.  With 
a  little  wonder,  but  supposing  he  must  be  tired,  she  got 
up  and  fetched  what  he  wanted. 

No  sooner  had  she  put  it  into  his  hand,  than  he  cast 
it*  away  from  him. 

"  Woman,  what  'a  yer  done  to  yerself  ?  "  he  cried  at  her 
in  hoarse  speech. 

She  started,  and  reddened  deeply  under  his  gaze,  but 
did  not  flinch  from  the  ordeal  while  it  endured. 

"Will  y'  answer  me?"  he  insisted. 

She  looked  back  at  kim,  saying  no  word;  their  eyes 
fought  in  silence  for  a  while. 

"  Are  ye  not  ashamed  to  go  on  looking  so?  "  cried  the 
old  man  at  last. 

"  No,  father,"  she  answered,  "  that  I  be  not!  I'll  not 
lie  to  please  'e.  What  I've  done,  it's  there,  and  has  got 
to  be.  Don't  think  but  I'm  sorry  enough  for  myself  now ; 
aye  and  for  you,  too,  that's  got  to  put  up  wi'  me.  But 
you've  on'y  got  to  call  me  a  name  an'  I'll  go!  " 

"  Ay,  ye've  got  your  mother's  tongue !  "  growled  the 
old  fellow.     It  was  the  first  time  that  Lizzie  had  ever 


MISUNDERSTANDINGS  281 

heard  mention  of  that  other  parent;  it  struck  a  strange 
thrill  in  her  now. 

"  I've  more  of  my  mother  in  me  than  that,  and  of  my 
father  too,  I  reckon,"  said  the  girl  proudly. 

"  An'  had  better  have  less  of  both,  mebbe,"  returned 
he. 

"  I  wouldn't  be  any  different  to  what  I  am!"  she  re- 
plied;  and  with  that,  turned  and  sat  down  again  to  her 
mendings.     For  a  time  neither  of  them  spoke. 

Haycraft  stooped  his  head  down  to  the  fire,  and  bent 
questing.  Presently  he  broke  silence  again.  '  Is  there 
any  party  ye've  to  complain  against  ?  "  he  asked  deliber- 
ately. 

The  girl  shook  her  head.  "  No,  it's  not  him.  Don't 
you  be  troubling  yourself,  father ;  you'd  best  leave  it 
alone." 

"Then  be  danged,  I  know  'm !  "  cried  the  old  man, 
stamping  down  firm  conviction  with  his  foot.  "  There 
'tis  ;  say  no  more  !  " 

"  Father,"  entreated  Lizzie,  "  let  it  be.  You  can't  do 
no  good." 

"  Ay,  wench,  I'll  not  say  a  word."  A  moment  later 
he  added  heavily,  "I'd  'a  given  more  nor  I  can  say, 
I'd  'a  given  more  nor  I  know,  that  this  shouldn't  'a  come 
about." 

On  that  he  smoked  through  a  pipe  of  tobacco,  and 
without  another  word  mounted  to  his  bed. 

Within  the  week  Lizzie's  photographer  kept  his  word. 
"'  There,  Missis !  That  ought  to  please  your  man,"  he 
said,  smiling  as  he  handed  over  the  print. 

She  murmured  her  thanks  with  burning  cheeks ;  and 
as  soon  as  she  could  be  rid  of  him,  retired  hastily  into  the 
house.  There,  with  the  photograph  before  her  eyes  she 
wondered  how  she  could  have  been  so  blind  to  her  state, 
and  wondered  more  that  no  whisper  of  it  should  have  got 


282  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

abroad,  albeit  her  recent  visit  to  the  Vicarage  assured 
her  she  was  still  safe.  MacAllister's  spiteful  shot,  her 
father's  sharp  scrutiny,  and  her  own  fears,  all  conspired 
to  give  her  an  exaggerated  idea  of  the  fact  she  wished 
to  conceal.  Increased  pity  for  herself,  and  a  depression 
from  which  she  could  not  escape,  made  her  more  than 
ever  long  for  the  comfort  her  lover  only  could  give 
her. 

She  had  put  the  picture  out  of  sight  into  a  drawer  and 
for  a  week  or  two  could  not  bring  herself  to  repeat  the 
shock  of  looking  at  it  again.  At  last,  after  deep  musing, 
she  drew  it  out  one  day,  and  endeavoured  to  study  it 
with  another's  eyes.  From  that  point  of  view  it  found 
favour ;  there  was  no  doubt  it  made  her  look  fair,  made 
her  look  altogether  as  she  wished  now  to  appear  in  Ray- 
mond's regard.  Sanguine  in  the  thought  and  the  wish, 
she  slipped  it  into  an  envelope,  and  addressed  it  to  the 
absent  one,  hoping  that  it  would  carry  word  to  him  of  all 
she  wished  to  convey. 

For  weeks  afterwards  she  stayed  on  at  home,  her 
father  relieving  her  of  all  errands ;  stayed,  hoping  with 
a  hope  that  slowly  chilled  for  the  answer  that  never 
came. 

More  and  more  she  shut  herself  off  from  the  world, 
even  to  the  point  of  remaining  unresponsive  when  Tris- 
tram came  knocking  at  the  cottage  door.  She  let  him 
depart  supposing  the  place  to  be  shut  up  and  empty. 

Going  away  after  his  second  or  third  attempt  to  find 
her  at  home,  the  Tramp  met  Haycraft,  and  greeted  him 
with  surprise ;  it  amazed  him  to  hear  that  he  had  been 
back  over  three  weeks.  "  Why  didn't  you  come  round 
and  tell  me,  you  old  prodigal?"  cried  the  boy,  wringing 
him  warmly  by  the  hand. 

The  old  fellow  met  his  advances  with  a  hard  front. 
"  You'd  'a  found  me,"  said  he,  "  any  night  if  yer'd  chosen, 


MISUNDERSTANDINGS  283 

Muster  Gavney.  Your  visits  have  stopped  like,  since  I 
come  back." 

"  Stopped  ?  "  cried  the  Tramp  in  a  perplexity  over  the 
old  man's  stern  demeanour.  "  Why,  I've  been  coming  for 
the  last  fortnight,  and  never  finding  any  one  at  home ! 
Where's  Lizzie  ?  " 

"  She  be  in,"  said  Haycraft,  "  she  be  never  out  now,  so 
to  speak." 

"  Is  she  ill,  then  ?  "  enquired  Tristram,  alarmed. 

"  She's  as  she's  likely  to  be ;  you  ought  to  know." 

"  But  I  know  nothing!  "  he  cried,  bewildered. 

"  And  she  'aven't  told  'e  to  keep  away  ?  "  asked  the  old 
man  incredulously. 

"  Lord  !  Ben,  I  haven't  even  seen  her !  "  exclaimed  Tris- 
tram, exasperated  at  not  knowing  what  his  companion 
was  driving  at. 

Haycraft  grew  grim  on  hearing  that.  "  Will  ye  be 
so  good  as  to  step  wi'  me  ?  "  he  demanded,  and,  on  Tris- 
tram's assent,  led  the  way  to  a  small  paddock  behind  the 
cottage  where  he  kept  his  ferrets  and  the  implements 
and  tackle  of  his  various  trades.  It  was  a  secluded  and 
battered  piece  of  ground,  fenced  in  with  high  wire 
netting ;  occasionally  a  few  fowls  had  their  run  there ;  it 
was  empty  now. 

Haycraft  clicked-to  the  gate  with  a  decisive  snap,  and 
stood  fronting  Tristram. 

"  Muster  Gavney,"  he  asked,  "  are  you  goin'  to  tell  me 
truth  or  lies?" 

"  Help  us!  "  exclaimed  the  injured  youth.  "  What  on 
earth  is  the  man  after?  Out  with  it!  What  is  your 
truth  first !  " 

"  Last  time  you  saw  Liz  was  —  when  ?  " 

Tristram  reflected :  a  month  ago  he  thought  was  the 
likely  date. 

"And  didn't  she  tell  'e  anything,  either  then  or  before?  " 


284  A    MODERN'    ANTAEUS 

"Anything?     Nothing  that  I  remember." 
'  That's  truth  ?  "   the  old  man   demanded,   looking  at 
him  hard. 

'  Truth,  Ben,"  he  affirmed.  A  horror  began  to  creep 
over  him ;  the  shadow  of  what  was  to  come. 

"  Muster  Gavney,"  pursued  the  old  man,  "  you've 
seemed  a  good  friend  to  me,  when  I've  needed  it ;  but 
you've  took  a  higher  price  for  it  than  'twas  worth.  My 
girl's  got  in  trouble.    Did  'e  not  know  that  much  ?  " 

Tristram  stared  aghast.  Lizzie  in  trouble  of  that  sort  ? 
he  asked  himself.  "I  swear  it's  not  true!"  he  cried, 
rallying  to  a  belief  in  her  which  he  had  good  cause  to 
hold. 

"  You  swear!  "  replied  the  other.  '  Maybe  you  didn't 
know ;  maybe  she  kep'  it  from  you  ;  but  there  'tis." 

Tristram  could  only  shake  his  head  at  a  thing  he  would 
not  credit ;  it  seemed  monstrous.  All  at  once  the  shadow 
of  a  suspicion  crossed  his  mind :  he  fought  it,  forced  it 
away.    It  was  not  true  ;  of  Liz  —  he  would  not  believe  it. 

'  Now,  sir,"  continued  Haycraft,  "  there  be  this  ques- 
tion left:  what'll  you  do;  and  what'll  /  do?" 

Tristram  wrested  his  suspicion  about :  —  the  fact  was 
there;  he  had  Haycraft's  word.  How  was  he  to  think 
it  possible?  In  one  way  only  :  he  recalled  a  scene  he  had 
witnessed,  and  in  a  direct  flash  of  thought  .had  singled 
his  man.  Let  the  case  be  so  horrible,  he  could  believe  it 
then  ! 

"  Do !  "  he  cried.  "  Smash  him  to  pieces ;  break  every 
bone  of  him !  Oh,  if  she  would  but  have  told  me  of  this ! 
You  were  away ?  " 

'  Yes,  I  were  away,"  answered  Haycraft,  "  but  I'm  here 
now.  Don't  'e  think,  Muster  Gavney,  that  we  part  till 
this  thing's  bin  settled  up.  Man  to  man  ;  that's  what  I 
say.  Ah !  I  know,  I'm  a  poor  man,  and  you  are  a  gentle- 
man ;  and  it's  no  good  our  likes  asking  your  likes  to  make 


MISUNDERSTANDINGS  285 

honest  women  of  our  girls.  But,  by  God,  here  where  we 
now  stand  we'll  find  which  is  the  better  man,  the  young 
'un  or  the  old." 

Tristram  stared  mute  to  see  the  great  fellow  stripping 
himself  for  action.  A  fine  figure  of  a  man  he  became : 
the  stoop  went  out  of  his  shoulders,  he  braced  himself  up 
to  his  height,  a  rugged  beauty  showed  out  of  the  hard, 
weather-beaten  visage.  The  formidable  old  limbs  re- 
sponding to  great  memories  of  a  pugilist's  day,  promised 
that  they  carried  behind  them  a  tough  customer,  one 
whose  movements  might  be  slow  but  whose  stroke  could 
still  fell  a  man. 

The  lad's  first  motion  towards  rage  and  disgust  was 
swept  clean  away  by  a  generous  impulse  of  affection  and 
pity.  The  sight  gave  him  too  absolute  proof  of  the  poor 
fellow's  honesty  for  him  to  stand  rigorously  to  his  dues. 

"  Ben,  dear  old  Ben!  "  he  cried,  and  had  the  old  man 
fairly  in  his  arms  before  he  knew.  "  Listen  to  me,  it's 
no  lie  I'm  telling  you!  Oh,  I'm  not  afraid  of  you;  if  I 
had  done  what  you  think,  you  might  knock  me  dead  and 
welcome.  But  I've  done  nothing :  I  knew  nothing  of  this : 
I'm  clear  of  the  whole  thing.  That  I  swear!  "  He  saw 
staggered  belief  come  into  his  accuser's  face. 

"  No,  but,"  he  went  on,  "  I'll  not  be  clear  of  it  in  one 
way;  no,  Ben!  you  and  I'll  stick  true!  I  tell  you  this: 
only  let  me  be  certain  of  the  man,  once  certain,  and 
while  I  have  a  leg  to  stand  on  he  shall  know  if  I'm  not 
Lizzie's  friend !  " 

Ending,  "  Give  us  your  fist !  "  he  had  the  old  fellow 
hard  by  the  hand ;  they  held  each  other  like  steel.  Honest 
hearts  reach  each  other  by  short  cuts  when  subtlety  of 
intellect  would  be  caught  tripping.  Haycraft  had  no 
doubts  left  in  him  :  the  truth  shone  too  evidently  through 
the  lad's  vehemence  of  speech. 

The   old    man's    tongue    stumbled    to    make    amends. 


286  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

"  Muster  Tristram,  I  ask  your  pardon,"  he  said,  and 
could  not  get  further;  there  was  no  need  that  he  should. 
The  Tramp,  half  unconscious  of  him,  had  his  mind  fixed 
on  the  central  tragedy.  "  Dear  Liz !  dear,  hrave  Liz  '  " 
he  murmured.  "  Oh,  she's  too  brave  to  be  pitied.  What 
can  one  do  for  her  ?  " 

"  Aye.  aye,"  answered  Haycraft,  "  she  mun  put  up  wiv 
the  weight  on  it.  Tis  a  hard  load ;  never  fear,  she'll  bear 
it.  But,  you'll  understand  me,  Muster  Tristram,"  he 
rested  his  eyes  with  friendly  meaning  on  the  youth's 
face,  "  so  far  as  I  be  concerned,  half  the  load  of  it  be  off 
now.  Things  beant  so  double  black  as  I  thought  'em 
when  I  met  'e  alone  just  now.  Aye,"  he  added,  "  Liz  may 
baud  her  tongue,  she's  a  right  to ;  I  won't  never  force  her 
to  speak;  but  I  ain't  got  me  eyes  shut  for  a'  that;  an'  if 
I  had  I  be  a  light  sleeper,  so  to  speak." 

The  old  man  offered  Tristram  entry  to  the  house  on 
their  return,  but  he,  mindful  of  Lizzie's  signal  of  the  shut 
door,  declined  the  proposal,  feeling  that  without  her  ex- 
pressed wish  he  should  not  intrude.  The  very  thought  of 
having  to  see  her  in  her  trouble  shot  confusion  to  his 
brain.  Yet  he  told  himself  that  she  had  but  to  signal 
for  his  help,  and  from  the  ends  of  earth  he  would  come 
to  her. 

Now  when  Lizzie  went  out,  she  chose  only  solitary 
places,  and  hours  when  few  folk  were  likely  to  be  abroad. 
One  morning  in  early  May  she  rose  before  dawn,  and 
making  her  way  through  pathless  fields,  came  to  the 
brook  over  which  she  had  once  carried  the  boy  Tristram 
on  her  back,  and  given  him  his  first  lesson  in  morals. 
Coming  on  the  place  she  sought,  she  left  her  basket  on 
the  bank,  and  began  gathering  watercress,  stepping  to 
and  fro  ankle-deep  in  the  ooze  over  which  it  grew.  She 
had  not  half-filled  her  basket  when  the  strain  of  stooping 
told  on  her;  she  mounted  the  bank  to  a  dry  place,  and  sat 


MISUNDERSTANDINGS  287 

down  to  rest.  Presently  her  lassitude  became  so  great 
that  she  had  to  lie  back,  and  adjusting  her  head  to  the 
slope,  she  let  her  cheek  rest  against  the  cool,  close  growth 
there  that  was  pushing  into  leaf. 

Under  her  eyes,  through  every  fissure  of  the  soil,  small 
life  was  beginning  to  show :  things  that  sprouted,  others 
that  ran.  Nature  was  in  her  most  excrescent  mood ;  the 
sun  fingered  the  uncurling  herbs  with  skilful  midwifery; 
the  brook  that  purled  softly  at  her  feet  threw  out  bubbles 
to  air  that  broke  to  let  out  wings ;  and  from  below  and 
above  came  hungry  mouths  and  beaks  eager  to  be  fed, 
birth-rate  and  death-rate  carrying  on  a  breathless  rivalry 
side  by  side. 

Watching  all  this,  Lizzie's  eyes  gradually  grew  closed. 
The  rosy  curtains  so  delicately  adapted  to  a  state  half- 
way between  waking  and  sleeping,  prompting  the  mind 
to  the  beauty  without  and  to  the  contentment  within, 
gave  the  right  invitation  to  rest.  Simply  the  sun's  palm, 
warm,  over  tired  eyelids  —  if  life  could  only  be  that,  just 
that  and  no  more,  how  easy  it  would  be  to  live !  To  rest, 
and  to  know  that,  outside  rest,  bright  things  lay  if  one 
chose  to  look  for  them,  —  that  surely  would  be  the  perfect 
state,  if  ease  were  the  true  goal. 

She  was  so  close  on  sleep,  that  quiet  footfalls  on  the 
grass  approached  and  stopped,  before  she  could  gather 
sense  enough  to  force  open  her  eyes.  Even  then  they 
were  slow  to  know  the  figure  that  stood,  backed  by  the 
morning's  broadening  beams. 

It  was  only  when  he  turned  to  go  that  she  recognised 
Tristram.  And,  alas !  of  all  men  that  it  should  be  he 
whom  the  siq-ht  of  her  had  driven  away. 

What  kindness  and  pity  his  going  indicated  she  could 
not  tell.  Impulsively  her  hands  went  out,  seized  and 
tore  up  by  the  roots  the  young  herbage  beside  her;  went 
on  tearing,  till  a  bare  patch  from  her  handling  showed 


288  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

in  the  green.  "  Oh,  Ray,  Ray,"  she  cried,  "  and  I  bear 
all  this  for  you !  "  She  threw  herself  over  on  her  face, 
weeping  bitterly. 

The  next  day  she  had  left  the  neighbourhood.     Not 
even  her  father  knew  where  she  had  gone. 


CHAPTER   XXIV 


PLANS    AND   SECTIONS 


13  AYMOND,  nursing  his  resentment  against  one  to 
whom  his  memory  still  leaned  in  fondness,  was 
flattered  and  a  little  touched  at  receiving  her  token.  It 
rekindled  so  much  of  the  lover  in  him,  brought  back  to 
him  so  vividly  the  spell  of  her  presence,  that,  while  lav- 
ishing tenderness  on  the  small  space  which  gave  him  her 
features,  he  regretted  that  in  the  place  of  a  whole-length 
he  had  not  a  fuller  rendering  of  dear  mouth  and  eyes. 

Yet,  even  as  it  was,  the  sweet  memories  it  brought  al- 
most moved  him  into  relenting  the  hard  silence  he  had 
practised.  Had  one  word  of  her  love  for  him  come  with 
it,  his  resolution  had  not  been  proof  against  sending  her 
some  small  token  in  reply. 

But  the  very  muteness  of  the  missive  made  him  regard 
it  suspiciously  as  a  riddle;  and  seeking  the  solution,  he 
restrained  his  desire  to  find  in  it  more  than  was  there. 
Should  it  mean  that  Lizzie  was  willing  now  to  yield  the 
point  that  separated  them,  then  a  little  more  silence  on  his 
part  would  help  her  to  know  who  henceforth  was  to  be 
master.  If,  on  the  other  hand,  it  was  but  a  lure  inviting 
him  to  accept  things  as  she  had  ordered  them,  and  to 
grant  her  an  indulgence  in  writing,  then  delay  would 
serve  still  better  to  instruct  her.  So,  for  the  settling  of 
the  question  he,  too,  waited,  thinking  that  a  week  or  two 
at  the  most  would  bring  the  fond  girl  to  her  knees ;  and, 
as  he  cherished  the  fair  profile  which  gave  but  half  the 

u  289 


290  A     MODERN     ANTAEUS 

mouth's  sweetness,  and  one  cheek  only  under  a  dark-set 
eye,  missed  altogether  the  real  meaning  with  which  it 
came  laden,  and,  with  a  little  intentional  cruelty,  was  cruel 
in  a  far  larger  degree  than  he  dreamed. 

While  he  still  held  off,  a  letter  reached  him  from  Tris- 
tram making  mention  of  Haycraft's  return.  With  much 
to  say  of  the  father,  of  the  daughter  it  told  nothing. 
Chafing  to  have  news  of  her,  Raymond  was  vexed  hy  the 
omission,  and  chose  to  imagine  it  strange.  He  was  pro- 
voked also  at  having  to  admit  that  Lizzie  now  stood  justi- 
fied in  her  refusal  to  quit  home.  So  Raymond  let  the 
estrangement  keep  its  force,  planning  for  their  meeting 
in  the  ensuing  summer  a  scene  of  fond  wrath  and  re- 
proach which  should  win  her  to  a  more  meek  allegiance 
in  the  future  than  she  had  rendered  him  in  the  past.  Let 
her  but  confide  absolutely  in  him,  and  the  world,  he  told 
himself,  should  not  contain  a  lover  more  tender  in  fulfill- 
ing the  obligations  of  his  trust. 

So  he  planned. 

Midway  through  June,  having  failed  to  gain  his  degree, 
Raymond  quitted  the  University  for  good.  Arriving  to 
play  the  wounded  lover  he  found  that  his  heroine  had 
quitted  the  stage. 

Meeting  the  Tramp  he  questioned  him  obliquely,  and 
got  oblique  answers  in  return.  He  heard  from  him  no 
more  than  was  known  at  the  Vicarage  as  to  Lizzie's 
whereabouts.  As  she  had  spoken  of  going  out  to  service, 
it  was  supposed  now  she  had  gone.  To  his  further  prob- 
ings  the  Tramp  bade  him  ask  Haycraft,  and  at  that,  Ray- 
mond was  forced  to  let  the  matter  rest.  With  Haycraft 
he  could  not  well  push  enquiry  beyond  a  casual  remark. 
Yet  all  day  the  thought  of  her  engaged  his  mind. 

Was  he  not  a  lover  faithful  and  constant?  His  feet 
sought  the  lonely  wood-tracts  where  they  had  been  used 
to  meet ;  he  chose  her  hours,  and  stood  continually  on  the 


PLANS    AND    SECTIONS  291 

spot  whence  could  be  seen  her  window  looking  out  on  the 
high  wood-bank  surrounding  her  home.  Even  when  he 
ceased  to  persuade  himself  that  her  return  was  merely  de- 
layed by  accident,  or  through  a  mistake  as  to  the  date  of 
his  own,  he  came  back  again  and  again  to  the  quest, 
though  it  was  with  embittered  feelings  that  he  now  longed 
for  her  to  appear.  Before  showing  mercy,  he  needed  to 
be  unmerciful  first,  —  must  strike  before  he  could  forgive. 
She,  not  he,  he  told  himself,  had  started  division  between 
them  ;  for,  at  the  very  best  interpretation,  her  removal 
meant  distrust  of  him. 

Thus  lonely  in  the  places  of  their  past  meetings,  the 
lover  came  to  regard  Lizzie's  absence  as  a  definite  affront, 
a  breach  that  was  intended  to  be  final.  With  her  father 
back,  she  must  have  gone  for  the  sole  purpose  of  avoiding 
him ;  that  she  should  have  done  so,  leaving  no  clue  as  to 
her  whereabouts,  was  a  further  proof  that  she  meant  to 
be  quit  of  him. 

Utterly  bewildered  when  first  called  on  to  believe  it,  he 
found  in  conviction  a  quick  hardening  process  for  his 
heart.  His  mind  recalled  the  sweetness  of  Lizzie's  looks 
and  words,  only  to  sum  up  a  whole  that  he  must  reject  as 
false.  Whatever  had  seemed  truest  in  her  ways  towards 
him,  came  to  be  the  measure  of  her  pretence ;  her  passion- 
ate abandonment  of  herself  to  his  hands,  her  humble  fore- 
bodings concerning  a  future  wherein  he  was  to  stand 
blameless,  all  that  had  then  seemed  to  place  him  high, 
served  now  only  to  inflame  the  wound  his  pride  had  sus- 
tained. He  had  not  ceased  loving  her ;  she,  incredible, 
had  ceased  to  love  him ;  believing  himself  worshipped,  he 
had  come  to  find  himself  deserted. 

Here,  then,  was  woman,  cried  self-love,  treating  him 
as  man,  if  he  stooped  and  let  himself  be  conquered,  must 
expect  to  be  treated.  He  was  not  the  man  to  take  reverse 
of  this  sort  in  meek  submission  ;  rather  must  he  smite,  and 


292  A    MODERN     ANTAEUS 

smite  till  the  fair  image  that  unworthy  had  won  place  in 
his  heart,  should  seem  no  longer  fair  to  him.  Still  to  love 
her,  was  to  stand  small  in  his  own  esteem,  the  cheat  of  his 
senses ;  all  the  tenderness  for  her  that  his  heart  retained 
was  but  convicted  folly  that  whined  not  to  be  cast  out.  He 
had  to  admit,  in  the  astonishing  pang  of  the  process,  that 
he  had  loved  the  woman,  whom  he  now  put  to  inner  tor- 
ment and  death.  Once  he  had  almost  thought  of  her  as 
mate-worthy,  his  right  complement  and  pair;  now  he 
forced  himself  so  deeply  to  doubt  all  he  knew  of  her,  as 
to  make  her  a  different  creature,  scarce  recognisable  even 
as  a  debased  version  of  his  dream.  He  was  implacable  till 
he  had  turned  her  into  an  unimportant  item  of  the  past; 
the  struggle  was,  he  found,  to  do  it. 

Lookers-on  who  know  more  of  Lizzie's  case  than  Ray- 
mond had  wit  to  guess,  may  think  badly  of  a  love  that 
could  turn  to  such  rancour  and  pride;  but  human  nature 
is  peculiarly  at  its  worst  when,  wrong,  it  assumes  itself  to 
be  right.  If  you  would  measure  a  man  finally,  wait  till  he 
convicts  himself  of  sin,  then  judge  him.  That  surely  is 
Heaven's  own  test,  and  the  meaning  of  the  hour  when 
neither  the  earth  nor  the  rocks  shall  be  able  to  give  cover 
to  man's  conscience. 

Tristram  discovered  soon  enough  the  change  that  had 
come  over  his  friend,  for  the  happy  relations  between 
them  fell  into  some  disorder.  Raymond's  reckless  air 
showing  the  man  out  of  sorts  was  forgivable  enough  ; 
not  so  the  new  tone  of  cynical  disdain  he  affected :  it  sat 
ill  on  one  who,  truth  to  say,  had  no  intellectual  ability  to 
carry  it  off.  More  than  once  the  two  came  to  words  over 
differences  which  would  before  have  but  set  them  chaffing. 
Quick  after  the  clash  of  tongues  broke  out  the  old  Ray- 
mond, straightforward,  dictatorial,  but  honest. 

'  Don't  mind  me,  Tramp!  "  he  cried.    "  I  tell  you  I've 
been  hard  hit,  devilish  hard.     You  remember  what  that 


PLANS    AND    SECTIONS  293 

old  gipsy  woman  told  me  last  year;  a  long  journey  to  go, 
and  a  far-off  country  to  live  in,  was  her  word  for  it. 
Well,  it  saves  me  the  trouble  of  thinking;  I'm  for  the 
Colonies :  —  to  live  in  England  one  needs  a  head-piece. 
I've  been  taking  three  years  to  find  out  that  I've  none. 
I've  made  a  mess  of  it  here;  best  thing  I  can  do  is  to  go 
and  be  a  new  broom  in  a  new  country.  I've  a  few  things 
to  settle  and  a  few  more  to  learn  ;  then  it'll  be  good-bye 
everybody !    In  a  year  not  one  of  you  will  miss  me." 

Tristram  imagined  that  his  friend's  pride  had  been 
deeply  hurt  by  failure  for  his  degree,  and  was  puzzled  to 
find  him  so  put  out  over  a  thing  toward  which  he 
had  previously  had  so  little  ambition.  How  would  he 
have  stood  better  in  prospects,  the  Tramp  asked  him,  had 
he  succeeded?  He  thought  very  little  of  Raymond's 
grumble  at  himself,  crying,  "  To  be  as  free  as  you  are 
now,  I'd  exchange  skins  with  you  to-morrow !  " 

Raymond  hunched  and  spoke  of  debts.  He  had  still  to 
break  them  to  his  father.  Tristram  said,  "  In  another 
year  I  believe  I  could  lend  you  something,"  adding,  "  You 
wait,  and  you'll  see  me  dancing  to  a  tune  of  my  own, 
then!  I'm  going  to  chuck  this  precious  business  head  of 
mine ;  but  it's  no  use  crying  off  till  I  can  start  the  other 
thing,  and  I  don't  know  what  the  other  thing  will  be  yet. 
Oh,  fresh  air's  the  first  item !  I've  given  my  father  hints. 
He  won't  seem  to  see  it ;  thinks  that  to  sit  on  a  wool-sack 
all  one's  life  is  as  good  as  becoming  Lord  Chancellor." 

He  summed  up  his  grievance  by  protesting  that  to  go 
into  Sawditch  every  day  was  to  put  his  head  into  a  sack 
and  feel  suffocated.  His  morning  rides  were  the  only 
present  comfort  and  stretch  that  his  energies  could  secure ; 
for  those  he  was  as  regular  as  the  clock,  up  punctually  two 
full  hours  before  breakfast. 

Another  member  of  the  household  was  also  an  early 
riser.     In  the  open  air  Marcia  and  the  Tramp  generally 


294  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

exchanged  morning  greetings ;  and  the  footway  between 
Hill  Alwyn  and  the  Valley  House  became  their  usual 
place  of  encounter. 

Thus,  a  week  after  his  home-coming  Raymond  fell  in 
with  her.  With  the  woods  behind  him,  he  fronted  a  pitch 
of  bare  meadow  tingling  with,  red  field  sorrel,  al<  >ng  whose 
edge  the  run  of  wind  made  a  hurrying  pulse  of  lights 
and  darks.  Over  earth's  shoulder  Phoebus  still  leaned 
low,  lifting  his  bonnet  of  cloud  to  the  morning;  from  the 
air  overhead  jetted  invisible  sparkles  of  song.  It  was  the 
dew-lit  hour,  before  heat  had  drawn  off  the  cool  bloom  of 
dawn.  No  other  country  can  give  to  an  Englishman  the 
full  incense-breath  of  early  day  which  comes  to  him 
through  the  laden  airs  and  fields  of  his  native  land.  Ray- 
mond had  never  travelled,  but  turning  his  thoughts  now 
to  places  far  over-sea  he  felt  in  his  blood  a  prediction  of 
the  loss  he  would  have  to  know ;  and  a  sentiment  for  his 
own  country,  almost  a  stay-at-home  wish,  took  hold  of 
him  consciously  for  the  first  time. 

Towards  him  came  a  fresh  vision  of  English  girlhood, 
stepping  at  a  great  pace,  making  a  bright  business  of  her 
morning's  walk.  Her  warm  colour  over  the  fluttering 
coolness  of  a  light  summer  gown  gave  to  her  face  the 
posy-beauty  of  flowers  close-massed  without  leaves  to 
single  them  into  form.  In  the  even  glow  of  its  rich  tints, 
face  before  features  was  what  one  saw.  For  face  alone 
posy  was  the  word ;  for  form  and  bearing,  a  rod  in  blos- 
som, a  high,  straight  spray  swinging  free,  was  the  thought 
that  came  nearer.  Warmed  breezes  off  a  high  hill,  brac- 
ing vision  of  cool  sunlight,  to  a  lover  with  a  taste  of  com- 
parisons, Marcia's  beauty  had  stood  sisterly  to  these. 

The  fair  girl  had  no  lover;  to  be  heart-whole  was  still 
part  of  her  charm  ;  the  rose-window  of  her  face  lay  cool  in 
its  morning  shadows,  unswept  dews  still  guarded  her 
earth  from  the  piercing  of  Love's  beams. 


PLANS    AND    SECTIONS  295 

"  Ah,  Raymond,  is  it  you?  "  she  cried,  with  a  look  of 
welcome  on  seeing  him.  "  Up  so  early  ?  "  sang  her  own 
praises  as  well  as  his.  "  I'm  meeting  Tristram,"  was  the 
explanation  she  gave  of  herself. 

Raymond  was  willing  enough  to  turn  and  go  back  with 
her.  They  walked  together,  she  doing  the  talking,  for  the 
full  breadth  of  a  field.  Her  tongue  was  in  its  most  up- 
with-the-lark  mood ;  the  mere  pleasure  of  seeing  things 
awake  put  her  into  livelier  speech  than  was  her  custom. 

"  What,  you  are  moody  still?  "  she  turned  to  say  pres- 
ently.   "  Even  now ;  and  look  what  a  morning!  " 

"  Ought  one  to  change  one's  moods  with  the  weather? ' 
enquired  he. 

"To  be  sure!  What's  the  weather  for,  otherwise? 
Give  me  grey  all  the  year  round  and  I'll  be  con- 
sistent !  " 

"  Whatever  would  you  be  like  then?  " 

"  Crabby,  unbearable ;  you  would  get  to  the  bed-rock  of 
all  my  bad  qualities  at  once !  "  She  glanced  to  take  in  her 
companion's  aspect.  "  Don't  go  in  grey,  dear  man,  Ray- 
mond, not  internally,  I  mean." 

"What,  you  find  me  unbearable?"  he  asked,  with  a 
hard,  short  laugh. 

"  So-so,"  she  answered,  giving  a  friendly  tone  to  her 
words.  "  Noises  like  that  you  might  just  as  well  leave 
out." 

"Why  shouldn't  I  laugh  at  myself?  It  helps  me  to 
bear  being  shown  I'm  a  fool." 

"  Who  shows  you  that?  " 

"  Don't  facts  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  You  mean  negatives,  disappointments.  Why,  a  man 
should  bear  those  and  be  the  better  for  them.  Who  ever 
thinks  the  worse  of  you  for  not  being  a  B.A.  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  can  bear  that,"  growled  Raymond.  "  It's  other 
things  I  mind  about." 


296  A     MODERN     ANTAEUS 

'  Every  one  has  to  bear  something,"  said  Marcia. 
"  I've  a  woe,  though  I  don't  show  it ;  or  do  I  ?  " 

He  looked  into  the  quiet  laughter  of  her  dark  eyes. 
"  Indeed,  and  you  don't!  "  he  assured  her;  "  I'll  believe  it 
when  I  hear  it." 

"  I'm  too  strong  for  my  sex,"  she  told  him.  "  There  are 
so  many  tilings  I  can  do,  and  mayn't.  It  never  strikes  a 
man,  I  suppose,  what  a  prison  that  is?  You  don't  want 
to  thread  needles  and  darn  stockings,  or  wear  your  hair 
long ;  all  things  you  could  do  if  you  wished.  If  you  want 
to  break  out,  you  break  out,  and  that's  the  difference. 
But  look  at  me !  " 

"  That's  what  I'm  doing,"  said  Raymond.  They  were 
at  a  stile ;  vaulting  it  he  stood  on  the  other  side  ready  to 
hand  her  over. 

"  There,  I  could  do  that !  "  she  said  to  him. 

"  Then  do  it !  " 

'  No,"   she  said,  and   set  herself  demurely  to  climb. 
*  Now  you  see  how  I  have  to  waste  time.     To  see  any 
one  jump  gives  me  a  pang.     And  think  with  those  feel- 
ings, what  it  must  be  to  have  Tramp  as  one's  brother? 
Sometimes  it's  no  use ;  I  have  to  let  myself  go." 

"  What  do  you  do  then  ?  " 

'  Pick  up  the  first  thing  that  comes  handy,  and  carry  it 
till  I  drop,  or  till  it  drops.  Generally  it  kicks  and  cries, 
'  Oh,  Miss  Marcia !  '  or,  '  Really,  Marcia,  my  dear,  you 
mustn't !  '  in  quite  a  dignified,  shocked  fashion.  But  I 
must!  A  man  really  doesn't  know  the  trial  it  is  to  be 
well-behaved,  because  he  hasn't  to  be." 

She  chattered  on,  with  quick  turns  of  the  head,  while 
keeping  to  his  pace.  Her  eyes  threw  laughter  at  him 
over  a  mouth  controlled  gravel)'  to  the  burden  of  its  com- 
plaint. 

'  Yet,  behold  me,  happy  enough !  "  she  declared  finally. 
"  And  have  you  any  grievances  so  great,  that  you  should 


PLANS    AND    SECTIONS  297 

not  be?    Do,  please,  be  holiday-like,  and  come  walks  with 
me!" 

Raymond  glanced  at  the  high  colour  and  lit  eye ;  she 
seemed  glad  merely  to  be  feeling  her  feet  under  her.  The 
romance  of  another  face  drifted  across  his  senses.  Fairer? 
no.  Yes,  for  him.  Ah,  no !  not  now.  He  banished  it  to 
ask  whether  walking  were  a  hobby  of  hers. 

"  My  hobby-horse,"  she  answered ;  "  the  Tramp  taught 
me  to  ride  it." 

"  His  own  pace  too."  Raymond,  stepping  beside  her, 
recognised  it. 

.  "  Oh  yes !  He  has  spoiled  me  for  walking  with  all 
women-kind ;  when  I  can't  get  him  I  go  alone.  Slow- 
walking  is  what  tires  me ;  it  gets  hold  of  different  muscles 
that  I  haven't  got.  You  remember  what  a  rate  we  three 
used  to  go  at  ?  Aunt  Julie  tells  me  I  look  improper  when 
I  do  that  now.  D'you  think  anything  improper  that  one 
really  likes?  " 

"  I  don't  think  you  improper,"  said  Raymond,  and  let 
his  meaning  be  seen. 

She  returned  the  compliment,  laughing,  "  And  I'm  sure 
you  are  not !  " 

Marking  how  confidently  she  stepped,  he  asked  her 
how  much  walking  she  thought  she  could  do. 

"  I  never  get  a  fair  test  now,"  she  complained ; 
"  Trampy's  time  is  too  occupied.  Once  or  twice  I  have 
been  on  the  beginnings  of  my  last  legs ;  but  it  was  mud 
not  distance  that  brought  me  there." 

"  Do  you  mind  about  hills?  " 

"  Up  I  like  them ;  not  down." 

"  That's  because  you  wear  heels.  Women  are  like 
hares,  all  up  at  heel.  They  think  it  helps  them  to  get 
there ;  and,  pushing  a  toe,  they  cut  off  a  limb." 

Marcia  showed  him  hers,  guiltless  of  the  excrescence. 

"  Ah,  so  that's  how  you  get  your  stride,"  said  Raymond. 


298  A    MODERN     ANTAEUS 

'  See  some  women  walk,  and  it  would  never  occur  to  one 
that  they  had  legs  above  their  ankles.    Do  you  run  ever?  " 

"  Alone:  or  when  Tramp  makes  me." 

"  How  does  he  make  you." 

'  Brings  me  through  a  field  where  cows  are,"  she  re- 
turned with  perfect  gravity.  "  It's  his  one  cruelty  ;  he 
says  it's  to  cure  me ;  but  I  can't  be  cured.  Mice  I've  no 
feeling  about,  cows  I  have.  1  feel  creepy  about  them ;  it's 
no  question  of  size.     I  look  at  them  and  I  run." 

"  Come,"  said  Raymond ;  "  over  there  are  cows." 

"  No ;  there's  Trampy !  "  She  waved  up  her  hand  and 
sang  out  to  him  for  his  news,  as  he  came  on  with  a  par- 
ticularly radiant  face. 

"  News?  Oh,  none!  "  he  answered;  but  added,  "you 
wait !  " 

"  You  look  like  a  spread  eagle !  " 

"  I  feel  it,"  said  the  boy. 

Truly  he  felt  uplifted,  like  Ganymedes.  He  was  fresh 
from  colloquy  with  Lady  Petwyn  :  without  warning  she 
had  sprung  on  him  a  proposal,  a  buffet  from  the  blue. 

'  If  MacAllister  died  or  departed,"  she  said,  "  would 
you  care  to  replace  him?  " 

'Him?"  exclaimed  Tristram,  hanging  on  the  wrong 
word  to  express  his  surprise. 

"  Oh,  of  course,  you'd  want  training ;  but  some  day  you 
may  reckon  that  the  post  will  be  vacant." 

Tristram  had  a  scruple.     "  You  don't  turn  him  out?" 

"  No,  I  don't  turn  him  out.  At  present  he  suits  me. 
The  point  is,  will  you  go  in  and  study  the  business  under 
him?" 

The  Tramp  shook  his  head,  with  solid  certainty  that  he 
could  not. 

'  I  didn't  suppose  so!  "  said  the  dame.  "  You  are  far 
too  stuck  up  and  proud  to  accept  things  sensibly.  Luckily 
I've  the  other  place  in  Wales  which  you've  been  to.    Will 


PLANS    AND    SECTIONS  299 

it  suit  you  to  go  and  make  a  mess  of  things  on  a  small 
scale  first ;  and  perhaps  come  on  here  afterwards  ?  I've 
thought  of  this  but  said  nothing  —  left  your  father  to 
give  you  your  first  polish.  He  tells  me  you've  a  busi- 
ness-head;  now  I  strike  in.  What  d'you  say?  Will 
you  come?" 

The  future  opened  on  him  like  a  landscape. 

"  To-morrow  !  "  cried  the  Tramp. 

"  Well,  I  give  you  three  months,"  said  she.  '  I'm  mis- 
taken if  you'll  find  it  such  plain  sailing.  For  all  I  know, 
a  quarter's  the  legal  notice.  If  so,  I  don't  imagine  I  shall 
get  you  away  for  less.  Understand,  young  man,  if  you  do 
this,  there's  more  work  ahead  for  you  than  perhaps  you 
think  of."  She  nodded  darkly,  scrutinising  his  unsuspi- 
cious face. 

It  was  with  this  brimming  in  his  body  that  the  Tramp 
went  down  that  day  to  join  his  father  at  Sawditch.  Find- 
ing him  much  harassed  he  postponed  word  of  it ;  and  from 
day  to  day,  for  the  same  reason  allowed  the  matter  to 
stand  undiscussed.  At  the  end  of  a  week,  dislocation  of 
interests  so  wrought  on  him,  that  to  contain  himself  be- 
came actual  pain. 

"  You  are  not  any  help  to  me,  Tristram !  "  Mr.  Gavney 
cried  irritably  one  day,  cast  this  way  and  that  with  worry 
and  the  stress  of  matters  requiring  immediate  settlement. 
His  hand  went  up  to  his  head  as  he  spoke.  '  You  might 
as  well  not  be  here!  " 

Tristram,  seizing  on  the  verbal  opening,  braced  himself 
to  deliver  his  mind.  Let  this  be  settled,  he  would  put  his 
back  into  all  that  had  to  be  done  so  long  as  he  remained. 
Without  great  affection  for  his  father,  he  felt  a  tender- 
ness, almost  a  compunction,  at  coming  to  the  point.  He 
spoke,  and  saw  before  him  a  petrified  face.  Having 
begun,  he  felt  that  he  owed  it  to  himself  and  Lady  Petwyn 
to  put  the  matter  clearly.     He  was  hot  upon  the  new 


300  A     MODERN     ANTAEUS 

project.  Meeting  amazed  protest,  he  did  not  scruple  to 
show  a  settled  mind. 

That  night  there  was  grief  and  dismay  at  the  Valley 
House.  Mr.  Beresford  Gavney  had  been  brought  home 
ill ;  how  ill,  no  doctor  could  say  with  certainty.  Absolute 
quiet  was  enjoined.  His  faculties  hung  wavering  in  a 
darkened  room. 

Tristram  felt  himself  a  culprit. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

BUSINESS    HEADS    AND    LOGGERHEADS 

A  T  the  Valley  House,  order  and  the  repose  wrought 
by  ministering  hands  succeeded  the  shock  of  catas- 
trophe. Tristram's  arrival  at  Sawditch  close  on  noon  of 
the  next  day  showed  him  a  different  picture.  A  pile  of 
correspondence  lay  unanswered,  and  unanswerable,  the 
head  clerk  assured  him,  needing  the  attention  of  a  direct- 
ing head.  Other  matters  pressed  shrewdly ;  certain  set- 
tlements were  impending ;  and  on  the  credit  side  the  books 
showed  unsatisfactory  features,  several  debts  marked  as 
bad,  together  with  others  slow  to  realise.  The  big  firm 
had  been  living  in  hand-to-mouth  fashion ;  and  the  least 
check  threatened  to  throw  the  whole  machinery  out  of 
order.  Tristram  found  that,  while  he  himself  had  an 
inkling  on  most  matters,  gathered  from  consultations  in 
his  father's  sanctum,  at  which  he  had  been  present,  the 
head  clerk  had  definite  knowledge  of  only  a  third.  He 
felt  the  weight  of  the  house  pressing  on  his  shoulders, 
and  was  without  confidence  in  his  coadjutor.  Before  four 
o'clock  in  the  afternoon  a  message  went  from  him  to  the 
outer  office  for  despatch,  informing  Gilpinger  that  his 
old  berth  lay  open  for  his  immediate  acceptance.  The 
"  come  "  of  the  offer  was  urgently  emphasised. 

A  minute  later  the  senior  clerk  presented  himself,  form 
in  hand. 

"  This  telegram,  sir?  " 

301 


302  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

"  I  wish  it  sent,"  said  Tristram. 

The  man  offered  a  respectful  protest.  None  of  the 
other  clerks  would  work  with  Mr.  Gilpinger,  was  what  he 
begged  leave  to  state. 

"  They  won't  have  to.  He  will  work  with  me ;  he  will 
occupy  my  father's  chair  during  his  absence." 

"  That  is  a  large  order,  sir." 

"  A  necessary  one,"  said  young  Jack  in  office,  and 
when  the  other  threatened  argument,  reminded  him  that 
he  had  not  been  invited  to  discuss  the  matter.  The  tele- 
gram was  sent.    Tristram  could  hear  mutterings. 

He  had  not  counted  on  his  man  in  vain ;  before  the  office 
closing-hour,  Gilpinger  presented  himself,  and  touched 
Tristram  by  enquiring  eagerly  and  foremost  for  last  news 
of  his  old  employer.  It  was  not  the  errand  he  had  come 
on. 

His  pupil  showed  him  the  machine  he  had  once  handled 
so  well,  now  out  of  gear,  at  friction,  threatening  a  stand- 
still.   Was  he  up  to  the  work  ?  the  boy  asked  him. 

"  Who  trained  you?  "  was  the  grim  response,  showing 
that  the  old  fellow  did  not  think  his  day  over  for  the  sur- 
mounting of  great  obstacles. 

To  a  further  enquiry,  "  When  will  you  come?  "  "  I'm 
here,"  sounded  satisfactory. 

"  Ah !  you  are  all  right,"  cried  Tristram,  and  had  him 
by  the  shoulders  down  into  the  chair  he  was  to  occupy. 

"Now,  John  Gilpin,  you  set  the  pace!"  said  he,  and 
turned  his  back  resolutely  on  broad  daylight. 

It  was  a  late  hour  that  night  when  he  reached  home. 
His  mother  was  sitting  up  for  him,  worn  out  and  anxious. 
All  was  still  well,  he  heard,  being  no  worse.  ;<  He  has 
spoken,"  was  the  best  news. 

"  You  mean  consciously  ?  " 

"  He  said,  '  Where's  Tristram  ?  '  When  I  told  him,  he 
said, '  That's  better.'  "    Doubtless  she  knew  of  differences, 


BUSINESS    HEADS  303 

for  she  said  anxiously,  though  without  reproach,  "  My 
dear,  you  love  your  father  ? " 

"I'd  do  anything  in  the  world  to  help  him!"  cried 
Tristram,  and  satisfied  her. 

She  put  her  thin  hands  round  his  face  and  kissed  him. 
"  Go  to  bed,  my  dear,"  she  ordered  tenderly. 

"  Dear  little  mother,"  murmured  the  boy,  "  you  must 
do  that ;  see,  I'll  carry  you !    Who  sits  up?  " 

"  Marcia,"  said  she.    "  Ah  !  if  I  had  her  strength !  " 

His  sister  met  him  returning  from  his  mother's  room; 
she  touched  his  forehead  with  her  cheek  and  looked 
shrewd  enquiry  at  him. 

"  I've  been  putting  my  business-head  on  to  older  shoul- 
ders," was  his  account  of  the  day's  work. 

"What  may  I  tell  him?"  she  asked;  "he  is  sure  to 
question.  He  wakes  up  to  enquire  after  you,  and  won't  be 
satisfied  till  he  has  heard." 

"  Tell  him,  I'm  there,  that  I'm  sticking  to  it.  Oh,  yes, 
give  him  my  love,  and  say  it's  all  right." 

Five  minutes  later  the  touch  of  the  sheets  won  him  to 
dead  slumber  till  the  call  of  the  morrow.  He  woke  to  a 
round  of  similar  days. 

Work  so  pressed  on  him  that  he  had  no  longer  time  to 
run  over  to  Hill  Alwyn  for  his  morning  rides.  Aware  of 
the  reason,  his  kind  old  dragon  sent  across  to  the  Valley 
House  a  mount  for  him,  punctual  to  the  stroke  of  eight 
each  day.  He  took  his  canter  to  and  from  Sawditch,  full 
of  gratitude  for  a  service  which  gave  him  time  for  his  be- 
loved exercise.  Thus  did  strong  and  weak,  with  contrary 
pullings,  strive  to  divide  his  heartstrings  between  them. 
So  hard  were  the  hours  he  kept,  and  so  keen  was  his  appli- 
cation, that  when  his  father's  danger  was  declared  to  be 
over  he  almost  felt  that  the  curing  process  had  come  from 
him ;  and  trusted  confidently  to  receive  reward  for  his 
stewardship. 


304  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

Gilpinger  had  done  wonders;  with  a  malicious  joy  he 
traced  out  the  mistakes,  shortcomings,  and  laxities  of 
book-keeping  which  had  followed  the  withdrawal  of  his 
iron  rule.  The  Gilpinger  code  was  reinstituted.  Tris- 
tram stood  as  buffer  between  his  snarling  tempers  and  the 
flesh  and  blood  of  office-workers  who  could  not  have  put 
up  with  it.  Nevertheless,  black  looks  followed  the  old 
man  as  he  entered  and  left  the  establishment. 

A  book  came  up  done  in  the  old  fashion,  a  deliberate 
assertion  of  the  sacredness  of  custom.  Tristram  weeded 
out  the  recalcitrant  with  a  quick  hand.  "  If  you  like  to 
come  and  ask  to  be  taken  back  again  when  my  father  re- 
turns, I'll  state  a  case  for  you,"  said  he  as  he  paid  the  man 
his  wages.  '  For  the  present  my  authority  holds  good ; 
you  happen  not  to  agree  with  it." 

He  stood  the  test,  hard  to  youth,  of  being  a  little  un- 
popular for  a  time,  having  before  been  a  favourite.  Gil- 
pinger's  shot-out  lip,  which  had  shown  things  were  seri- 
ous, relaxed  after  a  while ;  they  ceased  to  burn  oil 
approaching  on  midnight.    The  old  clerk  said  one  day :  — 

'  See,  we've  got  the  web  right  again ;  the  centre  of  it's 
here!"  he  slapped  his  desk.  "  Your  father  has  been  sit- 
ting too  much  to  one  side.  Fact  is,  he  never  took  my 
seat  at  all  after  I  left ;  it  seems  to  have  been  a  general 
play-place  for  fools.  Mind  you,  if  you  or  he  don't  sit  in 
it  when  he  comes  back  and  I'm  gone,  you'll  be  in  the  same 
mess  again." 

Tristram  said,  "  If  my  word  is  good  for  anything  you 
are  to  keep  it  and  choose  your  own  time  for  getting  out  of 
it.  I  shall  not  be  in  your  way,  that  I  promise  you.  As 
soon  as  I  can  speak  to  my  father  on  business  matters, 
your  name  goes  foremost.  I've  been  constitutional  prince- 
ling to  your  Prime  Ministry  is  the  report  T  take  him.  If 
you  want  to  do  me  a  return  service,  tell  him  I've  no  busi- 
ness-head." 


BUSINESS    HEADS  305 

"  And  any  other  lie?  "  asked  the  old  fellow,  by  way  of 
showing  crusty  admiration  of  the  lad's  abilities. 

Riding  home  every  evening  Tristram  fell  into  pleasant 
thoughts  of  coming  freedom.  An  omen  of  happiness  had 
reached  him  at  a  time  when  his  heart  needed  cheering,  a 
letter  from  the  dear  Sage  back  from  foreign  travel  and 
restored  to  his  old  health.  The  boy  longed  to  have  speech 
with  him  again,  and  wrote  that  the  pleasure  was  only 
briefly  postponed.  He  hoped  to  carry  fine  news  over 
with  him  when  he  went. 

Wishing  to  thank  his  old  dame  for  her  kindness,  he 
came  back  betimes  one  evening  and  rode  on  to  Hill 
Alwyn.  On  the  way  he  passed  a  cart  coming  up  out  of 
Cob's  Hole  laden  with  cottage  furniture ;  beside  it  walked 
a  labourer  with  wife  and  children,  a  respectable,  poor 
family,  not  the  sort  to  be  victims  of  an  eviction. 

"What,  are  you  leaving?"  he  stopped  to  exclaim; 
and  when  they  affirmed  the  fact,  "  Where  to,  then?"  he 
enquired. 

From  question  to  question  he  came  on  a  sad  enough 
story.  Their  two  youngest  children  had  died  of  diph- 
theria in  the  home  they  were  now  quitting ;  and  since  no 
remedy  to  existing  conditions  was  promised  them,  these 
poor  folk,  who  actually  wished  for  their  children  to 
live,  were  moving  to  Bembridge,  the  nearest  place  avail- 
able. Thence  to  the  man's  work  was  three  miles,  but  not 
a  cottage  was  to  be  had  nearer. 

The  shame  of  it  flushed  the  boy's  cheek  as  he  entered 
the  rich  Hill  Alwyn  acres.  Lady  Petwyn's  conscience, 
with  MacAllister  as  its  keeper,  was  no  pretty  object  to 
him. 

His  lady  welcomed  him  with  open  arms  and  kind  scur- 
rilous abuse.  "  How's  your  father  ?  "  she  asked  presently, 
and  so  came  to  her  main  point :  "  When  is  he  going  to 
let  you  off  ?  when  am  I  to  call  you  my  man  ?  " 


306  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

Tristram  spoke  his  mind  straight  on  that  subject,  with 
conscience  fresh  from  a  toasting.  "  Madam,"  said  he, 
"  if  I  am  ever  to  follow  MacAllister,  it  must  be  on  con- 
ditions :  Cob's  Hole  will  have  to  go." 

"  I  hear  you  say  so,"  said  the  dame.  "  How  long  has 
your  brain  had  that  bubble  in  it  ? "  To  his  hot  state- 
ment of  the  circumstances  by  which  he  hoped  to  move 
her :  "  Froth  it  off,"  said  she. 

To  attempt  the  cajolery  of  soft  words  would,  he  saw, 
be  ruinous  to  the  cause  he  advocated.  He  pointed  instead 
to  the  plain  fact  that  such  hovels  drove  good  labourers 
off  the  estate. 

"  It's  pound  foolish,"  said  he. 

"  Well,"  she  retorted,  "  call  it  my  penalty  for  be- 
ing extravagant;  I  haven't  the  pennies  to  be  wise 
with." 

"  You  could  start  building  on  a  loan  to-morrow,  if  you 
chose.  The  cottages  themselves  would  be  a  sufficient 
security." 

"  And  three  years  hence  would  be  pig-sties !  " 

She  relished  argument  with  the  Tramp  too  well  to 
trouble  to  talk  soberly.  Her  tongue  whipped  him  along 
a  well-beaten  track  that,  as  ever,  was  to  lead  them 
nowhere. 

"  I  make  you  an  offer,"  she  said  finally,  "  I'll  do  the 
same  by  you  as  by  the  Cooper-Petwyn  gang.  If  you 
want  Cob's  Hole  you  may  buy  it,  and  build  a  new 
tower  of  Babel  in  your  own  way.  There,  I  mean  it ; 
I've  listened  quite  enough  to  your  nonsense  and 
temper!  " 

"Seriously?"  asked  Tristram.     She  nodded. 

He  jumped  up,  crying,  "Done!" 

"  Very  well,"  she  snapped,  with  a  grim  look  at  him. 

"  Mind  you  be  ready.  In  a  year's  time  MacAllister 
goes ;  I  may  as  well  tell  you  now  that  he  got  his  notice 


BUSINESS    HEADS  307 

from  me  this  midsummer.  When  the  time  comes  I  must 
replace  him.  I'll  do  no  dancing  attendance  on  cranks 
and  crazes ;  I  want  a  business  man.  I  warn  you  the  thing 
will  cost  you  a  cool  five  thousand." 

"  MacAllister  goes !  You  promised  you  wouldn't  turn 
him  out !  " 

"  He  turns  himself  out :  wouldn't  obey  my  orders  :  went 
trespassing  in  a  direction  I  chose  to  think  inconvenient. 
There  the  matter  stands ;  he  goes  out,  somebody  has 
got  to  come  in.  The  offer  rests  with  you ;  take  it  or 
leave  it !  " 

"  Give  me  just  a  month  over  the  year,  and  I'll  take  it." 

"  Oh,  I'll  give  you  the  month,  if  you  think  your 
conscience  can  bear  up  under  Cob's  Hole  in  the 
interval." 

She  felt  somehow  that  she  was  being  conquered ;  the 
Tramp  was  gaining  his  ridiculous  point,  notwithstand- 
ing her  contempt  and  threats  to  have  done  with  him. 
The  thought  made  her  put  a  bark  on  to  her  parting 
speech. 

"  For  once,"  she  said,  "  you  have  succeeded." 

"  In  what  way?  "  he  asked. 

"  Been  a  prig." 

'  Your  nursing  has  done  it,"  he  answered. 

At  home  he  found  Marcia  back  from  an  airing,  with 
Raymond  for  a  companion.  She  came  laden  with  wild- 
flowers. 

"  Talking  of  small  incidents  by  the  way,  we  met  Lizzie 
Haycraft,"  she  said.  "  No,  we  didn't  speak  to  her ; 
I  just  caught  sight  of  her,  and  hardly  knew  her  till 
she  had  passed ;  she  looks  pale  and  altered.  Service  has 
knocked  her  up,  I  suppose ;  so  now  she's  back.  Have 
you  seen  her?  " 

The  Tramp  flushed  a  little  consciously  at  the  news ;  he 
was  glad  to  hear  it,  yet  had  a  wonder.     "  No,"  he  said, 


3o8  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

"  I've  had  no  time  to  see  any  one;  in  a  day  or  two  I 
must  go  over." 

"  Ray,"  said  Marcia,  "  tells  me  he's  off." 

"Off!     When?  where  to?" 

"  To-morrow,  into  Wiltshire.  I  shall  miss  him, 
Trampy ;  he  has  helped  me  to  breathe ;  I  don't  look 
broken  down,  do  I  ?  And  I've  been  chief  nurse  all  along ; 
to-day  I  made  papa  own  it ;  as  if  he  knew  anything  at 
all  about  it,  poor  darling!  He's  most  meek  when  I  talk 
to  him;  agrees  with  everything  I  say,  even  when  I  tell 
him  you  are  a  good  boy.  He'll  get  up  with  quite  a  re- 
formed notion  of  you." 

The  shadow  of  what  his  father's  commendation  meant 
crossed  Tristram's  mind ;  but  his  new  scheme  had  now 
grown  too  material  and  big  for  him  to  have  fears  about 
its  ultimate  reality.  Thus  he  built  his  castle  on  the  edge 
of  a  precipice  of  sand. 

Marcia's  last  walk  with  Raymond  remained  imprinted 
on  her  mind,  by  reason  of  a  kindly  fear  that,  by  some 
careless  word,  she  had  done  him  an  injury.  Starting  in 
gayest  spirits  they  had  returned  in  gloom.  What  had 
she  done  to  bring  about  the  change?  Somewhere  she 
knew  he  carried  a  wound ;  had  she,  she  asked  herself, 
been  heedless  in  a  chance  handling  of  it? 

"  I  go  to-morrow,"  he  had  said  at  parting,  though 
when  speaking  of  the  project  only  two  hours  earlier  he 
had  left  the  date  indefinite.  "  No,"  he  declared,  then,  in 
the  face  of  her  surprise,  "  I've  not  changed  my  mind 
at  all;  I've  had  it  made  for  me.  You  told  me  I  ought 
to  be  up  and  doing;  there's  sheep-farming  to  be  learnt, 
and  away  in  Wiltshire  the  opportunity  is  waiting  for 
me.  Oh,  you've  been  a  good  fellow  to  me,  Marcia ; 
talking  to  you  has  shown  me  what  I'm  fit  for,  and  some- 
thing that  I'm  not.  Now,  if  I  don't  see  you  again  before 
Christmas,  you  needn't  think  I'm  idle.     And  if  I  want 


BUSINESS    HEADS  309 

advice  again  before  I  leave  England,  I'll  come  to  you  for 
it."  They  parted  firm  friends.  What,  then,  had  so 
abruptly  decided  him?  Marcia  reviewed  the  incidents 
of  the  road  and  all  their  conversation  together  during 
that  day,  but  could  hit  on  no  solution.  To  be  sure  she 
had  on  this,  as  on  other  occasions,  given  him  motherly 
advice,  for  she  loved  dearly  to  be  wise.  When  he  first 
spoke  of  his  debts  to  account  for  the  strain  of  depression 
she  noticed,  her  common-sense  cut  off  his  right  to  the 
luxury  altogether. 

"  You  haven't  really  an  anxiety,"  she  then  told 
him. 

"  But  how  can  I  help  having?  "  he  urged. 

"  About  them  ?  none.  You  know  your  father  will  pay 
them.  You've  only  a  bad  conscience ;  that's  a  very  differ- 
ent thing.    Get  rid  of  it." 

To  his  "  How?"  she  replied,  "  Make  a  clean  breast  of 
it."  And  on  their  next  meeting  he  owned  to  a  conscience 
so  much  the  lighter. 

Afterwards,   in  his   first   gay   mood,   she   asked   him, 

"Now  haven't  I  done  you  good?"  and  won  laughing 
admission  of  the  fact.  Getting  him  to  talk  nonsense, 
she  was  quick  to  approve  the  change  of  note  in 
him. 

"  Now  you  are  more  sensible,"  she  said. 

"  Yes  ?  if  you  call  this  being  sensible." 

"I  do ;  to  enjoy  one's  self  always  is !  " 

That  was  her  doctrine,  and  to  a  point  it  had  acted 
as  a  cure  for  his  malady.  What  then  had  she  done 
differently  on  this  one  occasion  to  bring  about  the 
change  ? 

She  retraced  their  way  over  meadow  and  hill,  and 
through  deep  wooded  lanes ;  and  from  each  reconstructed 
scene  came  memories  of  the  subjects  they  had  discussed. 
Was  it  there  that  she  hurt  him,  or  there?     Their  talk 


310  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

on  sheep-farming-  had  suggested  Hiddenden  for  an  objec- 
tive; and  she  wanted  to  be  introduced  to  quaint  old  Daddy 
Wag-top.  Time  failing  them,  their  farthest  point  had 
been  a  cottage  hidden  away  in  the  bend  of  the  Ran- 
dogger  wood.  They  found  themselves  then,  on  enquiring, 
seven  miles  from  Hill  Alwyn,  mid  might  have  been 
twenty  from  anywhere,  such  a  remote  strange  little  corner 
of  the  world  did  it  seem. 

A  small  girl  standing  at  the  cottage  gate  directed  them 
to  the  shortest  way,  so  far  as  she  knew  it ;  but  her 
knowledge  of  the  country  ceased  at  the  main  road  to 
which  she  pointed  them.  A  child  herself,  this  slippet  of 
a  body  sustained  the  weight  of  a  small  babe  slung  in  a 
shawl  over  her  arm.  Marcia  stopped  to  look  into  a  brown 
face  buttoned  up  with  sleep. 

"  Sister  or  brother  ?  "  she  enquired. 

"  'Tain't  ourn,  it  belongs  to  lodger;  it's  a  'e,"  answered 
the  child. 

Marcia  laid  a  finger  on  the  soft  poll,  touching  its  down 
fondly. 

"  Oh !  what  a  furnace!  "  she  cried,  "  I  can  feel  his  heart 
beating !  "  Smiling  to  Raymond  she  said,  ' '  I  suppose 
babies  bore  you  ?  " 

"  I've  never  found  much  to  see  in  them  yet,"  he  ad- 
mitted. 

"  I  lose  my  heart  to  them,"  she  said,  "  I  should  like  to 
buy  that  little  dormouse."  On  their  way  home  they  passed 
late  dog-roses,  and  Marcia,  wilfully  gathering  more  than 
she  could  hold,  made  Raymond  share  her  prickly  handfuls. 
He  was  gay  enough  then. 

She  could  not  trace  to  anything  said  or  done  the  mani- 
fest change  that  had  come  over  him,  and  showed  most  of 
all  in  his  parting  words. 

It  was  to  be  a  separation  of  some  months,  if  his 
intentions  held  good.     Bidding  him  good-bye,  she  said 


BUSINESS    HEADS  311 

frankly,  "  I  shall  miss  you,  Ray."  Hearing  of  him 
actually  gone  the  next  day,  she  found  in  the  thing  accom- 
plished something  less  understandable  than  the  mere 
threat,  which  might  have  sprung  from  the  mood  of  a 
moment. 

'Is  the  poor  boy  in  love  with  somebody?"  was  the 
notion  that  came  involuntarily  into  her  head.  A  moment 
later  she  was  vexed  to  have  let  it  come  there,  and  did  her 
best  to  be  rid  of  it. 

Raymond's  thoughts  of  her  on  parting  were  not  of  the 
lover's  kind :  yet  they  were  those  of  a  man  who  was 
willing  to  efface  a  past  by  whatever  he  could  find  of  fair 
in  the  present.  "  There's  the  sort  of  girl  I  like !  "  he  told 
himself.  "  Who  likes  me,"  lay  as  the  unrecognised  germ 
to  that  statement.  Matching  him  with  spirits  half  blithe, 
half  grave,  she  did  something  to  restore  his  self-respect: 
much  to  give  him  a  new  reverence  for  womanhood.  For 
through  all  her  frank  comradeship  he  discerned  no  easy 
way  to  the  loverly  caress.  She  was  a  woman  who  would 
make  no  compromise  for  love ;  stride  by  stride  she  would 
race  and  test  the  man  who  should  wish  to  secure  her 
heart,  inferiority  on  a  single  point  she  prized  would  lose 
her  to  him ;  like  Atalanta  she  would  run ;  unlike  her, 
no  golden  apples  would  ever  turn  her  aside.  By  a 
continence  of  beauty  similar  to  the  continence  where- 
with an  athlete  endows  his  body,  it  was  her  gift  to 
banish  all  that  body  of  sentiment  which  goes  to  bid 
flickering  sparks  ape  the  pure  flame  of  love.  Her 
manner  stood  independent  of  the  troublous  charm  of  her 
sex ;  there  was  no  lurking  in  it  of  the  things  quick  to 
fascinate  and  lure ;  there  might  some  day  be  revelation 
for  one  alone  where  the  secrecies  of  hearts  unfold.  This 
was  the  woman  whose  face  Raymond  kept  as  a  barrier 
between  him  and  a  thing  he  wished  to  forget,  another 
face  passed  without  a  sign  of  recognition.    Just  so  much 


3i2  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

at  the  moment  had  off-hand  pride  enabled  him  to  accom- 
plish. "  Halt !  halt !  "  had  cried  his  heart.  "  Forward !  " 
came  from  somewhere  the  opposing  voice. 

Obeying  it,  he  yet  found  that  to  maintain  that  resolution 
he  must  quit  his  home.  Pride  ruled,  but  had  not  the  entire 
allegiance  of  his  soul. 


CHAPTER   XXVI 

LIZZIE    LOSES    HER    REPUTATION 

IZZIE  had  seen  once  more  the  man  she  loved ;  death 
*-'  of  love  had  looked  back  at  her  out  of  his  face. 
Her  feet  succeeded  in  bearing  her  through  the  ordeal  of 
his  eyes :  no  more.  When  he  had  gone  by,  she  stood 
still,  turned  and  would  have  given  her  world  then  to 
see  his  face,  however  forbidding,  look  round  on  her 
once  more,  to  show  that  she  still  travelled  in  his 
thoughts.  Instead  she  saw  a  head  kept  resolutely 
straight,  and  heard  light  talk  and  laughter  receding 
up  the  lane.  Tristram's  name  reached  her.  Was  his 
sister,  then,  the  woman  whose  face  she  had  not  seen, 
whose  flowers  Raymond  bore  in  his  cap?  She  neither 
knew  nor  cared  to  know :  the  searing  vision  of  love's 
recognition  denied  to  her  threw  so  black  a  night  over  her 
brain  that  there  remained  hardly  any  meaning  in  what 
she  saw. 

It  was  evening  light;  over  her  head  the  wood  boughs 
were  hung  wonderfully  with  song ;  the  outcry  of  torture 
had  been  better  company  to  her  ears. 

Over  and  above  the  shrewd  anguish  of  her  heart,  a 
terrible  perplexity  took  hold  of  her  reason.  In  that  her 
mind  so  stumbled  that  for  a  while  her  limbs  remained 
without  the  directing  impulse  necessary  to  action.  As 
though  she  thought  instruction  would  come  with  patient 
waiting,  she  stood  looking  up  the  road  by  which  Raymond 

313 


314  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

had  gone,  never  stirring  a  step.  So  she  remained  stunned 
while  many  minutes  went  by. 

All  at  once  she  drew  a  hard,  dry  breath  that  ended 
in  a  sound  of  shivering.  Her  hands  went  up  to  her 
forehead  and  down  again ;  all  the  thinking  in  the 
world  was  no  use.  "Oh,  my  God,  but  it  can't  be!" 
she  murmured,  and  stumbled  to  the  grass-bank  under 
the  hedge.  "  Oh,  Ray,  oh,  my  dear  love !  "  came  then 
as  the  free  utterance  of  her  grief.  "  Oh,  Ray !  "  she 
rang  his  name  up  and  down,  to  exclaim  against  and  to 
cherish. 

'  Why  have  you  done  this  to  me  ?  "  she  was  presently 
enquiring  of  the  absent  one,  but  again  could  not  get  quit 
of  the  sound  that  meant  more  to  her  than  all  words. 
"  Ray,  Ray,"  she  cried,  "  what  have  I  done  that  you 
should  wish  to  forget  me  so  soon  ?  Were  you  so  afraid 
that  I  should  speak  t'e  ?  Oh,  Ray,  was  it  that  ?  "  So 
she  cried,  and  seemed  waiting  answers  that  did  not 
come. 

It  was  not  pride  but  humility  which  forced  these  piteous 
interrogatories.  The  poor  girl,  questioning  her  own 
mind  and  her  absent  lover  aloud,  was  ready  to  discover 
that  the  fault  had  in  truth  been  hers.  But  in  spite 
of  all  that  she  could  urge  against  herself,  the  stony 
denial  of  his  look  was  a  cruelty  whose  meaning  she 
could  not  solve  save  by  accepting  it  at  its  surface-value 
—  seeing  in  it  the  death  of  the  love  that  had  once  been 
hers. 

At  the  thought  that  it  might  be  true  the  hard  tensity 
of  her  agitation  broke  down  into  a  simple  abandonment 
of  grief. 

Recognising  how  low  she  stood  in  his  regard,  acquies- 
cing in  what  she  had  ever  believed  must  one  day  be 
inevitable,  she  allowed  her  tears  to  get  the  better  of  her, 
and  seemed  in  the  wild   indulgence  of  her   sorrow  to 


LIZZIE   LOSES   HER   REPUTATION    315 

recover  touch  with  the  heart  she  had  lost.  Raymond's 
love  for  her  was  over  and  done  with  ;  fate  had  but  brought 
home  to  her  with  quick  stroke  the  end  she  had  always 
feared ;  and  she  could  receive  the  dead  past,  like  a  mother 
her  babe,  to  weep  over. 

Humility  gave  her  courage  to  accept  what  it  seemed 
must  henceforth  be  her  lot ;  but  it  was  with  pure  pride 
and  gladness  in  the  midst  of  her  distress  that  she 
remembered  the  one  thing  of  which  she  could  not  be 
deprived,  hers  and  his.  The  thought  of  that  which 
finally  drew  her  onward  to  her  present  place  of  abode. 
Nature  indeed  was  calling  her,  plucking  her  by  the 
breast  with  familiar  thrills,  reminding  her  of  the  lapse 
of  time.  With  a  face  already  quiet  in  its  grief,  she  rose 
and  stepped  out. 

For  a  short  distance  she  had  to  follow  the  high  road 
before  again  entering  into  cover  of  the  quiet  Randogger 
lanes ;  she  found  the  broader  track  as  solitary,  however,  as 
the  one  she  had  just  quitted,  and  followed  its  windings 
for  nearly  a  mile  without  meeting  or  seeing  a  soul.  But, 
as  she  drew  within  sight  of  her  next  turning,  she  saw 
just  before  her  a  couple  of  tramps,  man  and  woman, 
plodding  slowly  along.  The  man  led,  the  woman  fol- 
lowed, bearing  a  double  burden :  over  one  arm  hung  a 
bundle  tied  up  in  a  dirty  cloth,  on  the  other  a  child  lay 
and  wailed  miserably.  The  pair  seemed  utterly  dis- 
pirited and  worn  out ;  the  man  lame,  the  woman  dragged 
down  and  wrenched  crooked  by  the  two  loads  she  carried. 
Coming  within  earshot,  Lizzie  could  hear  the  man's 
voice  thrown  back  in  loud  grumbling  at  his  wife.  Hav- 
ing little  wish  just  then  to  come  into  contact  with  any 
of  her  fellow-creatures,  the  girl  hung  back,  hoping  to 
reach  her  corner  without  overtaking  them ;  but  insensibly 
she  drew  nearer,  her  feet  unused  to  so  slow  a  pace, 
until    she   could   overhear   the   words    they    exchanged. 


316  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

Turning  aside,  she  leaned  on  a  gate,  and  waited  for  them 
to  go  forward. 

"Cries?  course,  'er  cries,"  answered  the  woman,  to 
some  remark  of  her  companion.  'Er's  'ungry,  'er  won't 
sleep  till  'er's  fed." 

"Who  stops  yer  feedin'  it?"  enquired  the  other,  and, 
wanting  an  excuse  for  rest,  sat  down  on  a  heap  of 
turf  by  the  roadside,  twenty  paces  beyond  where  Lizzie 
now  stood.  '  There,"  said  he,  "  don't  say  I  tells  yer 
to  starve  it."  The  woman  sank  down  beside  him,  and 
began  with  a  dull,  listless  motion  to  rock  the  child  to 
and  fro  upon  her  knee,  disregarding  the  plucking  of 
its  tiny  hands.  At  length,  since  its  wail  increased,  she 
drew  open  her  gown,  and  allowed  the  small  creature  to 
fasten  upon  her  breast. 

For  a  moment  only  the  monotonous  crying  lulled ;  it 
broke  again  into  louder  complaints  than  before ;  the  babe 
beat  itself  about  with  feeble  rage,  then  choked  and  fell 
into  a  prolonged  strain  of  coughing. 

"Call  yerself  a  mother?"  said  the  man;  " 'ush  it,  I 
tell  yer !  " 

The  woman  took  down  the  child  from  her  breast,  and 
began  to  fasten  her  frock.  "  I  ain't  got  a  drop  for  it," 
she  cried  in  a  leaden  voice  of  indifference  or  despair ; 
"  'ow  can  I  'ave,  walkin'  all  these  miles,  an'  no  proper 
food  to  do  it  on  !  It's  you,  Bill,  with  your  drink  and 
gettin'  out  o'  work,  starves  the  two  on  us.  I  say  it ;  yer 
do!" 

For  evidence  against  him  she  strained  the  little  misery 
up  to  her  breast ;  —  let  him  see  how  starved.  '  It's  no 
use  yer  cryin',"  she  said,  "  Mammy's  got  nothing.  Yer'd 
be  better  if  yer  was  dead." 

Down  wind  every  word  carried  to  Lizzie ;  she  listened 
to  the  voice  of  a  misery  deeper  than  her  own ;  a  misery 
without  hope  or  wish  left  to  it ;  it  gave  her  a  sense  of 


LIZZIE  LOSES   HER  REPUTATION    317 

shame.  She  stood  up  from  the  gate  and  started  on, 
wanting,  she  knew  not  why,  to  look  on  the  face  of  this 
other  woman.  It  was  perhaps  as  much  pitying  curiosity 
as  charity  that  drew  her  on. 

Coming  nearer  her  looks  fell  first  on  the  man.  She 
shifted  them  quickly  to  the  face  of  his  companion ;  dumb- 
dog  eyes  met  hers.  With  a  thrill  of  sisterliness  she 
discovered  in  herself  a  sudden  fear,  a  wish  that  she  had 
not  looked.  In  spite  of  herself,  it  seemed,  her  feet  slack- 
ened ;  a  delicate  panic  came  over  her  face,  as  with  a  timid 
gesture  she  advanced  to  where  the  other  stayed  seated. 
Then  with  a  quick  glance  up  the  road  and  down,  she  took 
the  child  in  her  arms,  and  without  a  word  sat  down  by 
the  woman's  side. 

The  crying  ceased  all  at  once ;  and  the  red  flush  mount- 
ing over  Lizzie's  cheek  did  not  die. 

"  God  love  yer !  "  said  the  woman  in  a  whisper.  'E 
be  good  to  yer!  You  be  the  only  Christian  soul  I  met, 
for  I  dunno'  'ow  long." 

"  When  did  you  feed  it  last?  "  enquired  Lizzie. 

"  Lor',  I  dunno',"  answered  the  other,  "  I've  'ad  'er 
now  and  then,  an'  'er's  sucked  a  bit  an'  cried,  an'  ain't 
seemed  fed  like ;  an'  that's  'ow  it's  gone  on ;  oh,  it  'ave, 
ever  since  me  and  my  man's  bin  on  the  road." 

Lizzie,  unseen  by  the  husband,  slipped  a  coin  into  the 
woman's  hand ;  her  eyes  bespoke  silence. 

Suddenly  alarm  sprang  through  her  blood.  Out  from 
a  deep  sandy  cutting  swung  a  light  market-trap  into  the 
high-road ;  three  or  four  men  and  women  sat  in  it. 
Concealment  was  too  late,  she  trusted  that  there  were 
strangers  enough  in  the  world  for  her  secret  to  be  safe. 
From  the  cart  curious  regards  were  turned  on  the  group 
seated  by  the  wayside ;  the  blend  of  squalor  and  outward 
respectability  was  sufficient  to  make  it  noticeable. 

Lifting  up  her  eyes   Lizzie   saw   Little  Alwyn   faces 


3i8  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

staring  at  her ;  one,  a  woman,  set  up  a  shrill  laugh.  So 
long  as  the  cart  remained  in  view  faces  appeared  for  the 
backs  of  heads ;  away  went  a  fine  tale  of  her  to  be  noised 
through  all  the  neighbourhood  that  knew  her. 

Her  breast  gave  one  long  rise,  and  fell  again,  a  cold 
feeling  went  into  her  hands  and  feet.  No  outward  sign 
marked  the  crisis  through  which  she  passed.  She  kept 
her  place  till  the  child  had  taken  its  fill.  It  was  almost 
asleep  when  she  returned  it  to  its  mother's  arms.  The 
woman's  hand  touched  hers  as  she  rose  to  go  ;  Lizzie  knew 
that  it  contained  within  it  the  shilling  she  had  given.  She 
smiled  a  "  good  evening,"  saw  the  man  give  her  a  surly 
nod  and  stare,  and  so  parted  from  them,  a  different 
woman  from  the  one  who  a  few  minutes  before  had  come 
there,  and  bearing  a  different  and  less  excellent  name  in 
the  language  of  men. 

That  night  she  arrived  at  her  own  home,  with  her  child 

in  her  arms.  Since  it  was  to  be,  she  would  face  the 
world.  It  was  significant  of  the  relations  between  father 
and  daughter  that  she  did  not  hesitate,  when  her  reason 

decided  her  to  the  step,  to  bring  her  so-called  shame  to 

her  father's  roof. 

He  gave  her  the  greeting  of  a  rough  nod ;  looking  at 

the  child,  said :  "  He  be  a  fine  'un,"  that  was  all.    A  more 

eloquent  sign  of  welcome  was  when  he  bade  her  sit  down, 

and  himself  set  out  the  meal. 

"  Muster  Tristram's  bin  enquiring  after  you,"  he  said 

presently.    "  Lots  'e  'ave." 

"  God  bless  him !  "   she  said  in   moved   tones ;   "  and 

you  too,  Dad,"  she  added,  touching  the  old  man's  head 

with   her   cheek :   the   nearest   to   an    embrace   that    had 

been   between   them,    for  all  the  years   they   had   lived 

together. 

The  next  day  gossip  tongues  had  plain   facts  to  go 

upon.     Before  a  fortnight  was  over  scandalous  connec- 


LIZZIE  LOSES   HER  REPUTATION    319 

tion  was  made  between  the  names  of  Tristram  Gavney 
and  Lizzie  Haycraft.  None  seemed  to  know  whence 
the  first  rumour  of  it  had  sprung,  though  once 
started,  there  were  twenty  to  say  they  knew  so  much 
for  a  fact. 

MacAllister  managed  to  let  his  word  for  it  seem  to 
come  after  a  general  knowledge  was  abroad.  His  report 
had  first  gone  up  to  high  quarters,  and  was  spoken 
confidentially. 

"  I've  seen  them  together,  not  a  matter  of  once  or  twice, 
my  lady,"  was  his  statement,  and  therewith  went  a 
malicious  hint  of  the  use  certain  keys  had  been  put  to. 
He  was  disappointed  to  see  that  credence  of  his  story  did 
not  entail  disfavour  for  the  offending  parties. 

For  a  few  days,  however,  the  tale  of  Tristram's  deep 
damnation  hung  fire,  or  was  breathed  only  in  secrecy 
among  the  elect  gossips  of  the  neighbourhood.  To  the 
vicar,  most  guileless  of  men,  that  particular  rumour 
came  late,  and  after  another,  naming  a  more  frequent 
source  of  mischief,  had  been  whispered  to  him.  Coming 
to  cheer  the  convalescence  of  his  chief  parishioner  and 
churchwarden,  he  sought  the  advice  of  that  good  man  of 
the  world  concerning  this  latest  parish  scandal. 

As  one  holding  a  cure  of  souls,  he  was  solicitous  for 
the  girl's  good ;  had  been  to  her,  advising  her  to  carry 
her  damaged  reputation  elsewhere,  and  make,  as  he 
termed  it,  a  fresh  start. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  say,"  he  said,  "  that  I  found  her  obsti- 
nate, at  last  even  defiant ;  her  father  encourages  her 
in  her  determination  to  stay  with  him.  Naturally  one 
would  wish  to  countenance  such  parental  feeling  in 
theory ;  but  Haycraft  is  not  a  good  guardian  for  a  lonely 
girl  who  has  already  gone  astray,  and  there  are  circum- 
stances which  make  it,  I  say,  incumbent  that  she  should 
go  —  or  marry. 


320  A     MODERN    ANTAEUS 

"  It  so  happens  she  has  been,  I  may  say,  in  my  service; 
if  the  thing  is  to  be  kept  a  mystery,  I  feel  there  is  a  slur 
on  my  —  my  employment  of  her,  shall  I  say  ?  I  bid  her 
give  me  the  man's  name;  I  would  use  my  influence  to 
make  him  marry  her,  if  that  be  possible.  Previously  she 
has  borne  a  good  character ;  I  conceive  that  she  may  have 
been  more  sinned  against  than  sinning.  She  meets  me 
with  silence.  My  answer  to  that,  then,  is  that  she  ought 
to  go  —  you  agree  with  me?  " 

He  had  Mr.  Gavney  entirely  with  him  on  that  point: 
he  pursued  his  argument. 

"  So  long  as  she  is  here  she  is  the  centre  of  scandal;  I 
have  even  heard  a  name  suggested,  a  married  man's ; 
I  will  not  repeat  it ;  the  mere  naming  does  mischief.  Her 
father  is  all  obstinacy  on  the  point ;  used  strong  language, 
I  regret  to  say,  to  me ;  thumped  his  fist  down  contradict- 
ing me  in  the  rudest  way,  ordering  her  to  stay.  He 
forgets,  I  think,  that  Michaelmas  gives  me  a  certain  hold 
over  him.  My  duty  is  to  my  parish ;  I  make  the  renewal 
of  his  lease  conditional  on  my  counsel  being  accepted ; 
my  counsel  I  call  it,  no  more.  I  mean  sincerely  the  girl's 
good." 

A  few  days  later  the  reverend  gentleman  who  talked 
thus,  got  such  definite  news  of  the  general  cry  as  made 
him  very  shy  of  broaching  the  subject  again  to  the  con- 
fidant he  had  at  first  chosen.  "  The  girl's  good  "  in  the 
face  of  social  claims  became  then  a  somewhat  changeable 
quantity ;  but  more  than  ever  his  wish  was  to  get  her 
away ;  her  case  had  then  become  the  centre  not  of  one  but 
of  two  problems,  and  the  solution  of  the  one  was  glar- 
ingly at  variance  with  the  solution  of  the  other. 


CHAPTER   XXVII 


PRELIMINARY    TO   A    STORM 


A  N  hour  of  fidgeting  waters,  perplexed  surfaces,  and 
criss-crossing  currents  precedes,  we  are  told,  the  ter- 
rific gaping  of  the  Maelstrom's  maw.  Then  it  is  that  craft 
shuttling  on  a  choppy  sea,  bob  this  way  and  that,  unde- 
termined, cork-like,  helpless  to  advance  or  recede  from 
the  death  which  like  an  inverted  bottle-neck  is  presently  to 
suck  them  down.  Even  the  wary  and  forewarned,  caught 
in  that  tangle  of  preliminary  foam,  may  not  know  from 
signs  at  what  point  the  reeling  of  the  skein  will  begin, 
when  the  watery  spool  must  perforce  draw  all  things  to 
the  control  of  its  furious  windings.  Yet  see  the  down- 
ward nozzle  once  pointing,  how  determined  becomes  the 
previous  flux ;  as  by  the  jerk  of  a  conjurer's  trick,  we  be- 
hold a  portent  fixed  in  its  causes  as  the  foundations  of  the 
eternal  hills. 

So  in  the  affairs  of  men  small  circumstances  wait  for 
results,  before  they  reveal  their  design  or  assume  the 
aspect  of  fate.  For  here  is  what  happens ;  by  a  phenom- 
enon of  the  human  brain,  nothing  under  the  sun  looks 
new.  At  the  click  of  the  trap,  the  situation  stands  sud- 
denly revealed:  and  'Inevitable!'"  cries  the  conscious 
soul,  as  though  for  every  Childe  Roland  his  dark  tower 
had  stood  since  the  beginning  of  the  world.  Thus  was 
Tristram  from  a  long  spell  of  comparative  discipline  and 
y  321 


322  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

submission  to  be  hurled  into  the  rebellion  for  which  he 
was  born. 

Behold  in  a  small  space  the  toss  of  contending  circum- 
stances, at  first  opponent,  presently  consentient  to  the 
spectacle ;  the  visible  and  invisible  array  of  influences 
pushing  to  the  mastery  of  that  most  assailable  of  high 
foolishnesses,  a  young  man's  pride.  Mark  the  stage  cun- 
ningly arranged  to  a  scale  that  he  can  fill ;  applause  ready 
to  become  provocative ;  hostile  elements  waiting  to  be  up 
and  active  with  the  rotten  eggs  of  abuse ;  and  like  a  sec- 
ond skin,  so  fit  and  easy  to  slip  on,  the  cap  and  bells  of 
motley  tomfoolery,  lying  handy  for  a  performance  wherein 
self-love  and  generosity,  gracelessness  and  chivalry, 
truth  and  dishonesty,  humility  and  vain-glory,  desire  and 
dislike  were  to  stand  inextricably  mixed. 

And,  of  course,  at  the  root  of  it  all,  as  ever  where  youth 
and  hot  blood  are  concerned  woman  was  the  mischief. 
Remember  then,  that  it  is  through  the  hero's  eye  you 
must  consent  to  see  her,  if  you  would  understand  his 
madness. 

Scandal  had  now  seized  hold  upon  Lizzie's  name ;  sud- 
denly when  her  danger  was  past  she  had  declared  herself 
to  the  world.  Brazen  she  must  be.  As  rumour  gave  out 
the  circumstances,  seated  by  the  roadside,  choosing  her 
company  from  the  lowest,  and  flaunting  an  office  which 
her  case  rendered  dishonourable,  she  seemed  so  indeed. 

Tristram  had  a  truer  insight  at  the  first  word :  know- 
ledge of  her  character  made  him  at  once  guess  the  charity 
of  the  deed.  "  Ah  !  I  love  her !  "  cried  the  inflamed  heart 
of  youth,  rising  up  to  challenge  the  scornful  verdict  of 
tongues.  His  idea  of  the  wrong  she  suffered  gave  an  addi- 
tional crown  to  her  woman's  goodness  of  heart.  He  be- 
lieved her  to  have  been  basely  stricken ;  and,  too  proud  to 
claim  redress  where  none  adequate  could  be  given,  to 
have  borne  with  conquering  submission  a  wrong  which  it 


PRELIMINARY    TO    A    STORM       323 

shook  his  manhood  to  conceive.  Then  she  had  come  back 
into  the  world  with  the  stain  of  it  removed,  wearing  a  fair 
name  still  in  the  eves  of  men  ;  vet  at  the  crv  of  motherhood 
had  risked  the  event,  and  for  that  act  of  honest  charity 
now  stood  ashamed.  Had  it  been  for  her  courage  alone 
Tristram  would  have  vowed  himself  to  her  service.  "  Oh, 
brave  soul!  Oh,  dear  friend,  Liz!"  his  heart  cried  of 
her. 

He  surmised  how  the  world  already  questioned  with 
ugly  interest,  and  how  cruellest  of  all  things  now  for  her 
to  bear  would  be  that  serpent  truth  on  which  she  had  set 
her  foot.  He  sighed  hungrily  for  Lizzie's  word,  and  to 
have  his  hand  on  the  man  ;  longed  to  go  to  her  and  claim 
it ;  yet,  from  a  scruple  and  the  fiery  flush  of  sex  that  came 
over  him,  knew  not  how.  So,  with  a  mind  distraught 
between  pity  and  rage,  going  elsewhere,  he  became  con- 
scious of  more  eyes  than  usual  turning  to  watch  him  as  he 
passed  through  the  slummy  purlieus  of  Cob's  Hole  on 
his  way  up  to  Hill  Alwyn. 

His  lady  greeted  him  with  curious  effusion,  flavouring 
her  speech  with  ironic  remarks  that  veered  artfully  about 
the  covered  subject  of  their  thoughts.  Morals  were  her 
theme  —  those  of  natural  and  unprotected  youth  in  par- 
ticular ;  she  barbed  her  innuendoes  without  making  them 
too  definitely  pointed.  Tristram  had  to  understand  pres- 
ently that  the  current  slander  of  his  friend  Lizzie  was  the 
chaff  Lady  Petwyn  thought  fit  to  throw  at  him. 

He  let  himself  go,  crying  out  on  her  lack  of  charity. 
"  You  of  all  women  to  have  so  little !  " 

"  What  are  you  tarring  me  for?  "  she  cried,  pleasing  to 
impute  quite  another  meaning  to  his  words. 

"  In  other  things  you  pretend  to  be  broad-minded,"  he 
cried,  in  high  anger. 

"  What  else  have  I  been  now  ?  "  she  enquired ;  for  in 
truth  lax  ethics  gave  a  sort  of  charity  to  her  scandalous 


324  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

tongue ;  her  scepticism  was  only  of  a  virtue  about  which 
she  cared  not  one  pin.  "  For  youth  I've  charity  without 
end!''  she  continued.  'I  give  it  countenance  with  the 
last  feature  I  possess.  Isn't  that  I  receive  you  proof  of 
it?" 

"  Now  it's  your  turn  with  the  tar!  "  he  retorted. 

"Oh!"  she  said,  grim  and  amused,  "  I'm  not  asking 
you  for  your  confidences,  but  you'll  please  to  understand 
there  are  tales  going  about.  I  suppose  we  shall  hear  next 
that  you  are  marrying.  MacAllister  seems  anxious  to  be 
your  best  man :  came  up  and  talked  morals  to  me,  '  of  all 
people,'  as  you  would  say,  till  I  shut  his  mouth  up." 

The  hated  name  sprung  Tristram  from  his  seat,  eager 
to  be  off  from  the  sound  of  it.  Enjoying  the  accuracy  of 
her  power  to  sting,  "  Mind  you,"  said  the  dame,  and  sent 
a  sharp  look  after  him,  "  if  you  ask  me,  my  impression  is 
that  you've  him  to  thank  for  what  you'll  presently  be 
hearing.  If  you  are  peached  on,  'tis  through  that  great 
man's  sense  of  the  duty  he  owes  himself.  I  warn  you,  he 
will  not  brook  rivalry." 

No  further  word  was  allowed  her;  like  a  snap  on  the 
tail  of  her  last  sentence  the  inflammable  youth  was  off. 
Lady  Petwyn  was  left  with  the  queer  satisfaction  of  per- 
ceiving that  some  of  his  anger  burned  personally  against 
herself;  the  bully  in  her  was  glad  to  have  discovered  a 
way  through  defences  that  had  so  long  thwarted  her 
efforts  to  pierce  them.  As  a  matter  of  fact  she  had  blun- 
dered, scoring  her  point  through  a  mistaken  diagnosis  of 
his  disorder.  At  a  moment  when  unusual  obtuseness 
joined  itself  to  her  habitual  indiscretion,  she  thought  her- 
self most  canny  in  regard  to  him. 

It  did  not  take  long  for  Tristram,  with  his  suspicions 
awakened,  to  learn  what  coupling  of  names  gossip  was 
making.  When  he  went  down  into  Little  Alwyn  he  felt 
himself  a  marked  man.  and  noticed  with  bitter  resentment 


PRELIMINARY    TO    A    STORM        325 

how  smirking  went  with  the  knowing  looks  turned  on 
him  in  the  fresh  light  of  scandal.  An  insane  wish  to 
punch  every  face  that  dared  meet  him  with  any  friendly 
aspect  began  threatening  to  make  him  a  highway  danger 
to  the  community.  By  comparison,  the  reserve  and  pain 
which  he  detected  in  Mr.  Hannam's  face  on  passing  him 
was  an  almost  welcome  injustice;  he  received  as  curt  a 
recognition  from  that  quarter  as  he  gave  in  reply  to  the 
more  cordial  greetings  of  others. 

For  him  it  was  a  new  loneliness  to  be  in  a  world  where 
he  wished  to  be  hated.  In  revenge  he  was  all  for  flouting 
it ;  and  had  for  the  moment  quarrelled  with  the  only  friend 
who  could  have  kept  him  at  all  sensible  through  the  vio- 
lence of  the  proud  malady  that  then  took  hold  on  him. 
Had  he  been  champion  to  no  cause  but  his  own,  laughter 
would  in  a  while  have  rescued  him  from  the  ridiculous 
extremes  into  which  mere  loyalty  of  heart  and  super- 
abundant courage  were  presently  to  plunge  him.  The 
poor  youth's  vices  fattened  upon  his  virtues :  on  that  sus- 
tenance they  helped  him  to  success  in  the  new  role  towards 
which  Lady  Petwyn  had  once  jeeringly  encouraged  him. 

At  home  there  was  no  sign  as  yet  of  the  disturbing 
rumour.  Mr.  Beresford  Gavney,  on  the  high  road  to  re- 
covery, had  not  yet  gone  further  than  the  grounds  for 
recreation  and  airing.  That  same  evening  he  and  Tris- 
tram held  their  first  business  consultation  over  what  had 
been  going  on  in  his  absence,  a  thing  hitherto  interdicted 
by  medical  authorities.  Before  long  the  father  did  not 
fail  to  notice  his  son's  restlessness  and  the  difficulty  he  had 
in  fixing  his  mind  on  the  subject  under  discussion.  With 
a  lively  fear  that  such  symptoms  meant  a  revival  of  Tris- 
tram's stubborn  inclination  to  seek  a  hazardous  indepen- 
dence, he  decided  that  the  earliest  possible  moment  was  the 
right  time  for  speaking.  Newly  risen  from  the  bed  of 
sickness  on  to  which  his  son's  undutiful  clamour  for  re- 


326  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

lease  had  precipitated  him,  he  might  well  reckon  that 
physical  feebleness  would  not  count  against  him  in  a  re- 
newal of  the  struggle.  Speaking  kindly,  indulgently  even, 
and  hoping  to  natter  his  son  by  admitting  him  frankly  to 
his  counsels,  he  told  Tristram  the  past  difficulties  of  the 
firm,  of  others  also  soon  to  be  faced.  Always  with  an  air 
of  scrupulous  regret  that  the  point  had  to  be  enforced  on 
his  attention,  he  drew  him  by  the  thread  of  his  narrative 
to  see  the  conclusion  at  which  he  aimed. 

Only  that  afternoon  Gilpinger  had  been  over  to  report, 
and  had  spoken  his  proud  mind  of  the  boy,  —  his  own 
product,  and  a  very  wonder  of  docility  and  industry. 
The  Tramp  had  to  learn  that  he  had  now  become  a  val- 
uable adjunct  to  the  firm's  property:  in  the  sweat  of  his 
brow  he  had  earned  the  very  last  commendation  he  wished 
for. 

"  Since  we  spoke  last  on  these  matters,"  said  his  father, 
—  "some  of  your  remarks  were  intemperate  then,  my  son  : 
I  speak  of  it  only  to  pardon  you ;  but  since  then,  since  all 
that,  you  have  discovered  yourself,  you  have  found  out 
your  value.  My  boy,  you  make  me  proud  to  say  you  are 
necessary  —  I  will  not  say  to  me  —  to  the  firm  ;  now  more 
than  ever  we  require  you." 

"  Not  me,"  said  Tristram,  "  Gilpinger ;  it's  he  who  has 
the  head." 

"  I  say 'you,"  returned  Mr.  Gavney.  "  Remember,  Gil- 
pinger is  an  old  man  ;  —  you  did  the  right  thing  in  recall- 
ing him  under  the  circumstances,  —  but  past  his  best ;  a 
year,  two  years,  how  long  can  one  count  on  him  ?  " 

"  Oh,  there's  new  life  in  him,  now  he's  back  at  his 
desk." 

"  New  wine  in  an  old  bottle,  a  precarious  investment. 
But  there  is  another  point,  he  brings  no  settled  interest 
into  the  firm."  Mr.  Gavney  hummed.  "  In  another  year 
you  will  be  of  age." 


PRELIMINARY    TO    A    STORM       327 

Tristram  threw  a  despondent  gaze  at  his  father's  face. 

"  You  mean  there's  money  I'm  to  come  into?  Is  that 
what  you  mean  ?  " 

Mr.  Cavney  bowed  his  head  honourably  to  the  im- 
peachment. "  My  boy,  that  is  what  I  mean.  Every  penny 
of  that  will  be  required  imperatively;  there  is  the  point 
you  have  to  consider  ;  or  rather  you  have  no  reason  to  con- 
sider it.  As  an  investment  you  could  not  have  better. 
Understand,  it  will  make  you  practically  my  partner;  at 
twenty-two  you  may  be  in  receipt  of  an  income  you  might 
marry  on." 

"  It's  not  income  I'm  thinking  of,  sir,"  said  Tristram, 
"  something  much  more  important  for  me  depends  on  it. 
It's  a  case  of  conscience.  Some  of  this  money  I  must  have 
free ;  you  are  welcome  to  the  rest." 

Mr.  Gavney  showed  the  irritability  of  convalescence. 

"  You  exhaust  me  with  discussion,"  he  cried.  "  I  have 
told  you,  told  you  already,  that  it  can  be  no  question  of 
amounts ;  learn  clearly  to  see  this,  the  firm  is  pledged ;  in 
another  year  money  must  be  forthcoming  or  we  go !  " 
The  word  sounded  cavernously.  That  his  son  should 
abase  him  to  such  plain  speaking  seemed  to  this  man, 
with  his  heart  set  on  the  future  prosperity  of  his  house, 
a  wanton  piece  of  tactlessness. 

But  the  poor  youth's  heart  was  set  equally  on  its  own 
projects ;  he  cried  out  selfishly  to  be  spared.  Others  had 
money  free  for  investments,  if  these  were  so  good :  Marcia 
was  already  of  age. 

"  What  ?  "  he  asked,  "  does  Marcia  do  with  hers  ?  Had 
she  not  the  same  as  I  ?  " 

At  this  question  a  flush  crossed  Mr.  Gavhey's  face  ;  with 
some  embarrassment  and  a  deeper  irritation  in  his  tones, 
he  replied,  "  Your  sister  has  already  done  freely  and  with- 
out question  the  thing  you  wish  to  avoid  ;  she  trusts  her 
father.    At  this  very  moment  her  money  is  helping  to  hold 


328  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

the  firm  where  it  stands.  What  you  have  to  face  is  this : 
if  you  refuse  to  do  what  I  ask  you,  my  efforts  for  the  last 
ten,  nay  twenty  years,  are  wasted.  Everything  I  have 
done  for  you,  mind,  depends  on  you  if  it  is  not  finally  to 
fail.  You  withdraw,  you  stand  aside,  refusing  the  inher- 
itance that  has  been  entrusted  for  you  to  my  hands  —  you 
leave  a  ruined  firm,  and  your  family  penniless." 

"Oh,  father,  say  no  more  about  it!"  said  Tristram, 
speaking  low,  and  rising.  Why  should  he  listen  any 
more  to  the  dashing  of  his  fair  prospects  by  wordy  itera- 
tions of  the  thing  he  had  to  accept  —  "  Have  the  money. 
Have  everything  your  way  for  the  present.  Perhaps 
at  a  later  date,  if  I  can  come  to  you  with  plans  of  my 
own,  you  will  listen,  and  give  me,  then,  the  right  you  deny 
me  now  —  to  be  free.  It's  no  use  talking  now.  May  I 
go?" 

He  was  allowed  to  quit  the  room,  feeling  bitterly  that 
he  had  been  made  to  appear  ungrateful  for  favours  which 
he  could  have  prayed  to  be  rid  of. 

Outside  he  met  Marcia.  He  took  her  hand,  and  bade 
her  come  down  with  him  to  his  own  little  sanctum.  There 
in  the  deep  gloom  of  late  twilight  she  sat  with  him ; 
unable  to  see  his  face,  she  knew  by  his  tone  and  manner 
that  something  had  deeply  moved  him. 

Keeping  hold  of  her  hand,  '  Marcie,"  he  said,  and 
repeated  "  Marcie,"  hesitating  over  the  thing  he  wished  to 
say. 

'  Well,  Tris,  you  know  I'm  here!  "  she  told  him  at  last. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  "  but  you  are  a  riddle,  you  puzzle 
me.  I  wish "  he  paused.  "  Do  I  knozv  you,  Mar- 
cie?" 

"  No  one  knows  me  better,  I  think !  We  were  twins 
once,  you  know,  and  we  haven't  quarrelled."  The  old  tag 
came  with  fond  meaning  from  the  dear  girl's  lips. 

"  Ah,  that's  it !  are  we  still  ?    Can  you  promise  so  much  ? 


PRELIMINARY    TO    A    STORM       329 

To-day  I  heard  you  were  grown  up,  Marcie;  your  own 
mistress  —  heard  it  to  realise,  I  mean.  But  are  you  as 
old  as  I  am  ?  " 

"  You  talk  like  furrowed  age.  Why,  I'm  five  years 
older !  my  sex  gives  me  the  right  to  claim  four." 

"  You  are  really  a  woman,  then?  " 

She  laughed.  "  As  much  as  you  are  a  man,  Trampie. 
Say  an  old  maid  if  you  like." 

"  No,  no !  there's  what  I  don't  want  you  to  be,"  he  said. 

"What  do  you  want,  dear  boy  ? "  she  leaned  on  his 
shoulder  to  ask. 

"  Marcie,  I  want  a  good  woman,  a  sister  —  it  isn't  for 
myself  I  mean.  You  named  Lizzie  Haycraft  the  other 
day;  you  know  she's  back.  I've  not  seen  her  yet,  but  I 
wish  to.  Will  you  come  with  me?  Oh!  Marcie,  trust 
me;  I  don't  ask  you  to  do  this  for  any  small  reason. 
There's  a  good  girl  in  trouble,  and  you  can  help  her:  it's 

help  she  wants.    It's  —  it's Marcie,  they  are  calling 

her  bad  names  !  " 

"Why?" 

"  There's  —  oh,  you've  only  to  go ;  you'll  see  all  about 
it  then  ;  you'll  understand." 

"  About  Lizzie?    What  shall  I  see,  Trampie?  " 

"  Just  the  thing  you  like  best :  a  baby." 

"  She  has  one?"  The  question  came  in  a  whisper  of 
held  breath. 

He  nodded  assent. 

"  But  that's  wrong!  "  said^the  girl. 

"  Yes,  it's  wrong.  How  wrong  you  can't  guess."  He 
threw  out  his  hands  unable  to  explain.  :<  But  —  but  she's 
a  good  woman,  Marcie!  You've  only  to  see  her  to  read 
that  in  her.  And  brave  !  She  would  go  through  fire  ;  it's 
what  she  has  done,  and  it's  for  that  they  punish  her." 
He  told  her,  as  he  read  it,  the  tale  of  Lizzie's  charity  to 
the  tramp  and  her  child. 


330  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

"  I  guess,"  he  said,  "  because  I  know  her.  Is  that  not 
enough  to  show  you  what  sort  of  a  woman  she  is  ? ' 

Marcia  took  her  brother's  hand  and  laid  it  against  her 
face. 

"  I'll  go,  Trampie,"  said  she  quite  simply. 

His  thanks  were  carried  less  by  words  than  by  the 
warmth  of  his  embrace.  '  I  trusted  you  from  the  first, 
that  you  would  do  as  much,"  he  said,  and  broke  off  sud- 
denly to  ask :  "  Marcie,  are  you  doing  this  just  for  me?  " 

"  No,  just  for  her;  hardly  for  you  now  at  all.  I  mean, 
I  understand."  The  girl's  voice  carried  her  emotion  of 
pity  to  his  ear. 

"  Then  I'm  not  wrong  to  have  told  you  about  it?  " 

"  I'm  glad."  After  a  while  she  said,  "  Will  you  know 
why?" 

"  I  will  indeed,  if  you  will  tell  me,  Marcie." 

"  Because  it  has  told  me  something ;  I  didn't  know  it ; 
I've  realised  it  now  —  just  now."  She  kissed  him,  saying 
—  "  since  I  came  in  here,  dear,  and  had  your  hand." 

"  What?"  he  asked,  astray  for  her  meaning. 

"  That  I'm  not  the  only  grown-up :  you  as  well.  And 
we  —  why,  we  are  twins  again  !  " 

She  nodded  to  him  and  herself,  proud  in  the  certainty 
of  her  new  possession  ;  and  with  a  full  faith  in  the  wisdom 
contained  under  her  fair  brow,  she  committed  herself 
most  readily  to  his  service,  nor  guessed  what  a  rebel  stand- 
ard of  revolt  against  things  old  and  tried  it  was  which 
waved  over  her. 

A  fortnight  later  she  stood  on  the  outskirts  of  storm 
that  raged  behind  closed  doors,  herself  the  partial  cause. 
Her  demure  industry  over  needlework,  a  thing  she  did 
not  love,  caused  Miss  Julia  Gavney  one  day  to  enquire 
what  it  was  that  employed  her  so  many  hours  of  the  day. 
She  was  shown  dainty  garments  suitable  for  small  limbs. 

"  I've  a  pet  dormouse,"  said  xMarcia ;  "  these  are  for  it 
to  cuddle  into." 


PRELIMINARY    TO    A    STORM       331 

The  girl's  mind  was  open  and  without  secrecy ;  she 
played  her  aunt  merely  to  tease  curiosity,  saying  finally, 

"  They  are  for  Lizzie  Haycraft's  baby." 

Miss  Gavney  showed  looks  of  imperilled  sanity  when, 
from  the  lips  of  a  young,  innocent,  and  tenderly-nurtured 
girl,  she  heard  that  most  scandalous  name  of  the  whole 
neighbourhood.  Marcia  was  actually  proud  of  her  em- 
ploy. Tristram  had  told  her,  she  said,  that  she  might  be 
useful. 

Julia's  remedy  was  a  rash  invasion  of  her  brother's  pri- 
vacy. She  found  the  door  locked,  and  clamoured  loudly 
for  admission.  Her  errand  brought  horrible  confirmation 
of  news  Beresford  Gavney  had  received  within  the  hour. 
Exposing  the  criminous  pieces  to  view,  she  exclaimed 
Tristram's  name,  denouncing  him  as  the  root  of  fresh  mis- 
chief. Mr.  Gavney  had  baby  linen  thrown  down  before 
his  astonished  eyes.  These  were  the  things  which  Tris- 
tram —  she  choked  repeating  her  words  to  underline  their 
horror  —  which  Tristram  had  procured,  commissioned, 
might  not  one  say  debauched,  his  sister  into  making  for 
Lizzie  Haycraft's  offspring.  She  gathered  that  Marcia 
had  even  been  there!  Where  would  England's  maiden- 
hood show  its  face  next  ? 

Decency  stood  overwhelmed  at  the  unutterableness  of 
the  deed.  It  was  the  signal  for  thunder  to  rouse  and 
shake  through  the  Gavney  establishment. 


CHAPTER   XXVIII 


A  BATTLE  OF  MORALS 


HPRISTRAM  stood  before  his  father.  They  were 
alone.  "  I  was  told  you  wished  to  see  me,"  said 
the  youth. 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  see  you !  "  replied  Mr.  Gavney.  "  It 
gives  me  no  pleasure.  The  point  is,  I  have  to.  Yes,  it 
seems,  what  with  one  thing  and  another,  that  I  am  always 
to  be  deprived  of  my  peace  through  you ;  that  is  my  fate. 
Yes,  that  is  what  I  must  bear !  Don't  look  at  me  like  that, 
sir !     Do  you  know  what  I  have  heard  to-day  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  I  do  know." 

"  Yes,  you  suppose  you  do !  Now  it  comes  out.  Now 
all  the  world  knows  of  this  fine  story !  Now  it's  brought 
to  my  ears,  and  I  have  to  ask  you ;  then  you  suppose  you 
know !  Your  knowledge,  sir,  if  it  only  comes  now,  comes 
late  in  the  day,  let  me  tell  you.  The  thing's  out ;  your 
name  is  being  cried  about  the  whole  place  with  that  of  a 
woman  who  has  made  herself  public,  a  common  drab.  Is 
that  what  you  know  ?  " 

"  Lizzie  Haycraft  is  not  common,  sir,"  said  Tristram 
hotly. 

"  I  go  by  the  evidence,"  retorted  his  father.  '  There 
it's  against  you.  Let  that  pass,  I  have  not  to  think  of 
her  character ;  it  is  the  reputation  of  my  name,  of  my 
family  that  concerns  me.  Your  poor  mother  will  be  ready 
to  die  when  she  hears  of  it ;  she  has  heard  of  it ;  it  has  aged 

33a 


A     BATTLE     OF     MORALS  333 

her  ten  years ;  it  is  a  blow  she  can't  recover  from,  ever, 
ever ;  you  have  done  that  for  her  —  you,  her  son !  " 

"  She  has  not  had  it  from  me,"  said  Tristram. 

"  No !  you  conceal  it  till  concealment  is  useless.  This 
thing  as  it  stands  is  scandalous :  how  does  it  come  to  be 
said  ?  Why  have  you  let  it  go  on  ?  It  is  not  to :  I  say  it 
must  be  denied.    Decency  demands.    You  hear  me?" 

"  Deny  it,  sir,  by  all  means !  "  said  Tristram. 

"  It  seems  you  yourself  have  not  taken  the  trouble." 

"  I  have  never  been  asked  the  question.  If  I  had  been, 
I  should." 

"  It  must  be  done,  and  quickly !  the  thing  is,  I  suppose, 
a  mere  rumour;  you  should  not  have  allowed  it  a  mo- 
ment's life.    Does  the  woman  want  money?  " 

"  Of  me?  Lizzie  Haycraft?  I  have  not  offered  it;  if 
she  needed  it  she  knows  me  well  enough.  I  think  she 
will  take  nothing  from  any  man.  These  lies,  sir,  which 
you  call  rumour,  have  not  started  from  her.  Understand, 
sir,  I  love  her ;  yes,  she  is  my  friend.  Think  ill  of  that  if 
you  must.    She's  the  truest  soul  I  know!  " 

"  I  would  rather  hear  nothing  of  that :  keep  it  to  your- 
self! What  I  have  in  mind  is  the  disgrace  you  have 
brought  on  your  name  in  public  by  such  friendship." 

"  Tell  me  definitely,  sir,  of  what  you  accuse  me." 

"  Of  the  disgrace,  which  you  must  needs  flaunt  before 
the  world.  Of  disgracing  yourself;  of  disgracing  me; 
your  mother  —  all  of  us.  In  your  own  place,  where  your 
name  should  stand  high,  where  you  have  your  family  duty 
to  think  of ;  you,  you  —  I  must  imagine  from  your  words 
that  you  take  the  blame  to  yourself  —  you  lead  a  girl  into 
wrong  —  ruin,  and  then  have  allowed  the  thing  to  become 
a  scandal." 

"  If  you  believe  that,  why  don't  you  tell  me  to  marry 
her?" 

"  You  look  at  me  like  that  to  insult  me ;  you  speak  to 


334  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

insult  me !  It  seems  easy  for  you  to  hold  your  head  high 
and  speak  as  if  the  shame  were  anywhere  but  on  your 
own  shoulders.  If  you  had  a  conscience  you  would  be 
silent." 

"If  you  would  rather  I  were  silent,  sir,  I  will  say  noth- 
ing! 

"  What  then?  Will  you  pretend  now  that  the  blame  is 
in  the  other  direction  ?  How  did  you  come  to  mix  your- 
self with  such  a  person  ?  " 

"  Nothing  shall  be  said  to  me  against  her !  Believe 
what  you  like  of  me.  As  soon  as  the  thing  started  —  the 
rumour  I  mean  —  I  did  one  thing  that  should  have 
counted  more  than  any  denial  from  me :  1  took  Marcia  to 
see  her,  and  she  goes  now  of  her  own  accord." 

"  You  dare  look  me  in  the  face  and  tell  me  that !  Your 
own  sister,  a  young  girl,  to  a  woman  named  for  loss  of 
character;  you  took  her,  you  say?" 

"  I  asked  her  to  go ;  she  came,  we  went  together ;  since 
then  she  has  gone  alone." 

"  Then  what  came  before  me  to-day  was  not  the  full 
extent  of  your  villainies.  What?  to  shield  yourself  you 
make  use  of  your  sister,  of  one  you  are  bound  to  protect 
from  the  very  knowledge  of  such  things.  Is  my  son  so 
base  ?  " 

"  Listen  here,  father!  "  cried  Tristram,  "  you  will  have 
to  hear  me  now.  Either  this  thing  is  true  or  is  not  true. 
You  tell  me  it  is  to  be  denied,  that  I  am  to  deny  it,  yet  you 
speak  as  if  you  believed  it  all  the  time.  Believe  what  you 
like  then :  you  did  so  before  ever  speaking  to  me,  I  think ! 
But  it's  late  now  to  begin  asking  me  questions,  and  ex- 
pecting me  to  tell  you  truth  which  you  don't  want.  Only 
I  say  this,  and  with  my  whole  heart  I  believe  it's  true. 
This  girl  whom  you  sling  names  at,  this  poor  Lizzie  Hay- 
craft,  whose  name  has  been  taken  from  her,  I  am  still 
proud  to  call  my  friend.    What  wrong  she  has  had  to  suf- 


A     BATTLE     OF     MORALS  335 

fer,  wrong  without  remedy,  Heaven  knows,  I  only  guess. 
With  what  courage  she  has  borne  it  I  do  know ;  and  for 
that  I  honour  her.  Father,  believing  what  you  do  of  me, 
bid  me  marry  her,  and  I  will  be  glad  to  obey.  If  she 
would  have  me,  I  swear  I  would  be  ready  to  take  her  be- 
fore all  the  world,  for  I  have  not  yet  seen  a  nobler  woman 
on  this  earth.  But  if  you  would  have  me  do  anything  less, 
your  advice,  like  enough,  will  only  drive  me  the  opposite 
way.  Think  me  as  guilty  as  you  like,  perhaps  you  have 
that  right;  you  have  had  some  means  of  judging  of  my 
character,  and  there  are  times  I  own  when  I  have  not  be- 
haved well  to  you.  All  the  more,  let  that  stand  between 
you  and  any  uncharitable  thoughts  of  her.  Make  your 
own  flesh  and  blood  do  right  before  you  begin  handling 
others.  Of  her  you  have  no  right  to  speak  ill ;  whatever 
is  wrong  in  her,  according  to  your  view,  goes  with  wrong 
in  me.  Remember,  if  you  speak  to  me  of  her,  there  is  no 
woman  I  honour  more  —  not  Marcia,  not  my  own  mother 
even  !    Now  say  what  you  like." 

Mr.  Gavney  heard  the  sound  of  a  fury  that  carried  no 
meaning  to  his  brain  ;  this  voice  of  the  young  man's  pas- 
sion came  to  him  out  of  an  unknown  world. 

"  Are  you  mad  ?  "  he  asked  simply,  when  his  son  had 
ended. 

Tristram  read  into  his  eyes.  Black  rage  urged  him  into 
a  retort,  echo  to  the  conviction  he  found  there. 

"  Mad  and  a  liar !  "  he  answered.  "  You  would  believe 
nothing  I  said  now  !  " 

His  father  was  inspired  to  reply,  "  Go,  then,  and  break 
your  mother's  heart ;  you  have  it  in  your  power  to  do  so. 
I  say  no  more." 

He  put  out  his  hand  forbiddingly.  Tristram  was  not 
to  speak  —  he  felt  himself  dismissed.  Directing  his 
thoughts  to  that  gentle  presence  into  which  he  was  bidden 
to  go  was  like  an  exchange  from  some  churning  torrent  of 


336  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

mud  and  foam  to  a  cistern  of  sweet  waters.  In  obedience 
to  the  literal  command,  the  last  thing  actually  expected  of 
him,  he  went  up  before  an  hour  was  over  to  his  mother's 
room.  There,  under  the  shadow  of  blinds,  he  saw  her 
resting  on  a  couch.  She  had  heard  his  footstep ;  her  face 
turned  upon  its  cushions  for  his  coming;  out  came  the 
dear  hands  to  meet  him,  impatient  to  have  hold  of  him. 
She  believed  in  her  power  to  cure  him  ;  what  she  had  been 
told  within  the  hour  convinced  her  only  the  more. 

"  My  dear,  oh,  my  dear!  "  she  said,  and  drew  his  head 
down. 

At  once  she  felt  his  body  shaken  between  her  arms; 
her  boy  he  was ;  and  even  in  a  mind  filled  for  rebuke  she 
congratulated  herself  with  a  mother's  triumph.  Had  she 
not  told  her  husband  it  should  be  so? 

"  Leave  him  to  me !  "  had  been  her  word. 

To  the  boy  in  her  arms  she  let  silence  for  a  while  be  her 
prayer.  "  Comprehend  me !  "  it  said ;  "  I  have  love,  com- 
passion, understanding."  His  devout  heart  was  ready  to 
admit  two-thirds  of  her  claim.  Oh,  the  comfort  of  that 
breast. 

Gently  her  voice  whispered  to  him :  — 

"  Oh,  my  dear,  what  a  sorrow  you  have  brought  me!  " 

He  drew  himself  away  from  her  embrace  to  say :  — 

"  Mother,  do  you,  too,  believe  everything  that  you  are 
told?" 

"  Not  all,  not  all !  "  she  answered.  "  I  can  see  mistakes 
and  pardon  them.  I  will  believe  what  you  tell  me,"  she 
added  in  invitation  to  his  confidence. 

"  You  are  the  first  to  say  that  to  me!  "  murmured  the 
boy,  turning  her  palm  to  his  lips. 

"  I  am  listening,"  she  answered. 

"  My  father "  he  said,  and  stopped. 

"  You  have  grieved  him,  my  dear !  " 

"  I  must ;  he  will  not  believe  what  I  say." 


A     BATTLE     OF     MORALS  337 

'  Trust  me,  I  will  make  your  peace  with  him !  "  she 
said.    It  was  not  the  thing  he  yearned  for. 

"  Let  him  think  what  evil  about  me  he  chooses !  " 
cried  Tristram.  "  But  you,  mother,  do  you  think  I  have 
been  so  base,  so  treacherous  —  I  have  heard  of  men  who 
can  —  as  to  do  this  that  they  accuse  me  of :  to  ruin  an 
honest  girl's  life,  and  then  leave  her  in  her  trouble,  for 
fingers  to  point  scorn  at  ?  " 

The  effort  to  say  even  so  much  was  extreme  for  him ; 
he  found  himself  bashful,  his  tongue  stumbling  for  an 
escape  in  words  that  should  not  shock  her  ears.  Alas ! 
when  we  must  veil  our  mother-speech  from  the  one  being 
to  whom  it  should  run  freely. 

With  fond  misunderstanding  Mrs.  Gavney  held  an 
unknown  heart  to  her  breast. 

"  I  do  not  think  that,"  she  said.  "  Looking  at  you,  my 
dear,  I  am  slow  to  think  it.  Yes,  yes,  even  /  know,  it  is 
so  with  the  young.  Often  one  who  is  bad  has  a  great 
power  over  the  innocent ;  and  the  harm  comes  before  they 
know  there  is  any  wrong  almost." 

To  the  boy's  mind,  so  much  as  there  was  of  unexpected 
insight  and  knowledge  in  her  speech,  did  but  link  her  to 
the  world's  view.  He  hardened  a  little  while  she  lay 
holding  him. 

"  Mother,  whom  are  you  charging  now  ? "  His  eye 
on  her  grew  stern ;  his  tone  made  her  afraid ;  she  had 
been  warned  what  she  might  hear. 

"  My  dear,"  she  pleaded,  "  I  have  said  very  little  of 
blame." 

Tristram  attacked  the  thing  she  had  left  unsaid. 

"  Of  me?  No !  If  you  are  going  to  speak  evil  of  that 
poor  girl,  let  me  go ;  I  cannot  bear  it !  There  is  no  wrong 
in  her;  she  had  no  chance.  Why  accuse  when  you  have 
no  proof? " 

He  heard  the  dearest  of  titles  used  to  instruct  him 


338  A    MODERN     ANTAEUS 

where  the  wrong  lay  in  her.  Lizzie  with  her  child  at 
her  breast  —  in  brave  betrayal  of  her  case  —  leaned  to 
him  with  claims  for  chivalrous  tenderness.  Apart  from 
what  his  mind  told  him  of  her,  testimony  to  which  he 
clung,  he  believed  that  the  whole  world  was  without 
charity  in  these  things.  His  own  eye  had  seen  things  to 
make  him  generous ;  his  ear  had  caught  sounds.  Once 
under  a  blue  evening  of  stars,  fainting  where  the  moon 
rose  bringing  night,  he  had  heard  lovers'  farewells 
spoken  under  a  hedge  of  may ;  the  man  away  to  seek 
work  and  no  chance  for  marriage  between  them  yet.  He 
had  heard  the  man's  moan  and  the  woman's,  as  of 
dumb  beasts  in  pain,  saying  chiefly  that  they  were  young 
and  hard  put  to  it  by  fate;  and  the  trembling  balance 
then  between  right  and  wrong,  as  social  man  must  hold 
such,  and  the  hardly  won  self-denial  of  two  bodies  bound 
for  a  while  to  part,  had  taught  him  charity  toward  all 
such  cases. 

The  name,  now  spoken  by  his  own  mother  as  a  cir- 
cumstance of  shame,  he  held  in  such  honour,  wild  theories 
rose  in  him  that  the  whole  world  should  give  way  to 
it.  Honest  manhood  he  thought  should  meet  nature's 
claim  and  allow  no  stigma  to  rest  on  the  production 
of  the  race.  He  repeated  his  belief  that  a  good  woman 
was  the  subject  of  their  thoughts,  one  incapable  of  such 
wrong  as  was  hinted  against  her.  His  hand  sought  re- 
sponse from  the  one  it  held,  now  when  his  words  were 
making  her  afraid. 

"  No  wrong,"  he  added,  "  that  a  man  who  held  woman's 
honour  as  high  as  his  own  should  not  be  ready  to  set 
right." 

She  shrank  scared  at  that,  her  husband's  cry  of  astonish- 
ment and  alarm  still  drumming  on  her  brain.  Tristram, 
she  was  told,  had  almost  threatened  to  marry  the  girl. 
Could  she  have  believed  that  it  was  a  case  of  innocence 


A     BATTLE     OF     MORALS  339 

wronged,  she  would  have  sided  with  her  son's  conscience, 
if  not  to  the  extent  of  the  actual  atonement  he  proposed ; 
but  she  saw  just  enough  of  the  truth  to  keep  her  from 
that  extent  of  succour  demanded  by  his  pride.  Weak, 
tempted,  she  could  believe  him,  but  no  tempter  of  one 
not  dipped  in  the  wickedness  of  men's  ways.  With  a  full 
wish  to  believe  what  he  told  her,  she  attached  a  minimum 
meaning  to  his  words,  and  thought  that  his  own  gener- 
osity deceived  him  as  to  the  wrong  he  had  done. 

She  saw  his  eyes  full  of  moisture,  tender  and  pleading, 
looking  to  find  a  companion  in  hers.  Weakness  set  sobs 
to  her  speech. 

"  Oh,  my  dear !  "  she  cried,  "  pray  to  do  right ;  do  not 
be  rash!  It  is  not  always  a  simple  thing  to  set  wrong 
right." 

Her  hands  were  caught  and  passionately  kissed ;  speak- 
ing so  she  seemed  to  belong  to  him.  That  was  not  the 
world  speaking;  at  last  he  had  some  one  with  him; 
wonderful  that  it  should  be  she! 

"  Mother,"  he  cried,  "  it  is  not  true;  there,  there  I  tell 
you  now !  I  have  never  done  such  a  wrong  as  that.  I 
have  never  betrayed  innocence.  I  have  nothing  to  boast 
of  myself,  but  I  have  not  done  that !  " 

She  believed  him  still.  "  I  was  right,"  she  told  herself, 
and  could  speak  strongly  then,  against  his  pride  and  the 
threats  he  had  used  to  dismay  his  father.  "  I  will  see 
him  for  you,"  she  said,  "  I  will  explain !  "  and  wondered 
why  his  face  should  suddenly  set  hard.  He  rose  and 
stood  behind  the  couch,  leaning  over  her. 

"  Yes,  yes,  mother,  do  as  you  like,"  he  said,  and  let  her 
say  on.  He  understood  her  now ;  and  this,  too :  that 
another  had  been  there  before  him,  speaking  in  her  ear. 
The  thought  brought  bad  blood  back  to  his  heart.  Pride 
returned  and  shut  his  lips ;  he  would  not  speak  again. 

Feeling  her  forehead  kissed  from  above,  Mrs.  Gavney 


340  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

reached  up  her  hand  for  his,  that  she  might  soften  what 
sounded  from  her  lips  like  hard  words.  It  was  not  taken ; 
she  turned  to  find  herself  left  alone. 

To  her  boy's  father,  "  Be  gentle  with  him !  "  she  said ; 
"  I  think  this  is  the  first  time  he  has  done  wrong,  and 
he  knows  too  little  of  the  wickedness  of  the  world.  He 
blames  himself,  and  will  not  have  it  spoken  of  another. 
That  is  a  good  fault,  it  shows  a  generous  heart." 

The  generous  heart  was  at  that  moment  engaged  in 
dealing  itself  one  more  wound.  Compromise  had  grown 
hateful  in  his  eyes.  He  wrote  to  Lady  Petwyn,  begging 
her  to  think  no  more  of  the  plans  she  had  made  to  help 
him.  It  was  now  out  of  his  power  to  keep  to  their 
bargain  ;  he  found  he  had  not  the  means,  yet  could  not 
alter  his  mind  where  matters  of  principle  were  concerned. 
He  preferred  a  friendship  which  left  them  free  to  differ, 
rather  than  office  where  he  would  be  bound  by  her  judg- 
ment. The  letter  was  stiff,  and  a  little  ungracious.  Lady 
Petwyn  snapped  her  acceptance :  his  decision,  she  told 
him,  settled  the  matter. 

Having  dealt  himself  that  stroke,  he  hoped  that  it 
proved  the  honesty  of  his  heart ;  thus  bucklered  in  pride 
he  stood  up  to  fight  society  and  the  world  alone. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

VIRTUE     IN     A     SWELLED    HEAD 

"T^ROM  Hill  Alwyn  Lady  Petwyn  looked  abroad  upon 
a  sight  that  warmed  all  that  was  worst  in  her  blood : 
the  rampant  youth  who  had  flouted  her  favours  for  the 
sake  of  a  crude  theory  was  now  making  an  egregious  fool 
of  himself.  To  have  full  news  of  his  progress  she  conde- 
scended to  glean  gossip  from  the  flightiest  tongues,  and 
with  a  venomous  charity  for  folly  accepted  whatever  was 
told  her.  To  the  culprit  himself  she  remained  very 
friendly ;  inviting  him  to  come  up  for  periodical  inspec- 
tion, she  traced  the  stages  of  his  disorder  with  a  keen 
relish.  Early  in  the  game  she  had  declared  herself  on 
his  side,  as  in  a  way  she  was.  What,  as  a  friend,  she 
asked,  did  he  wish  her  to  say  for  him :  was  the  thing  true 
or  untrue?  Tristram  did  homage  to  a  direct  question; 
he  wished  her  to  say  nothing  for  him :  as  for  "  the  thing  " 
—  it  was  not  true. 

The  old  rogue  accepted  his  word,  not  in  the  least  believ- 
ing it.  It  was  a  gentleman's  duty  in  certain  cases  to  tell 
lies ;  the  amusing  thing  was  that  he  should  regard  this  as 
one  of  them.  His  gratitude  should  have  touched  her ; 
instead,  she  wondered  whether  he  thought  her  a  fool, 
though  she  delighted  in  the  audacity  with  which  he  put 
the  rest  of  the  world  in  that  category.  "  It  seems  to  me," 
she  said,  "  that  you  are  fighting  civilisation  and  the  whole 
history  of  England,  from  the  Reformation  on." 

341 


342  A    MODERN     ANTAEUS 

After  capering  from  pillar  to  post,  from  the  paternal 
to  the  spiritual  authority,  Tristram  would  come  upon 
her  to  blaze  off  his  indignation.  He  was  demanding  value 
for  an  insult  he  would  not  stoop  to  refute.  "  I'm  not 
questioned,  I'm  accused,"  he  said.  "  They  say  it  is  so : 
very  well,  then,  if  that  is  their  view,  let  them  have  the 
honesty  to  act  as  if  they  thought  it."  She  believed  verily 
that  a  claim  to  matrimony  was  the  bee  that  buzzed  in 
his  bonnet ;  and  divined  triangular  tactics  taking  place, 
one  pursuing,  two  elusive.  "  Face  it  out  with  a  clean 
conscience,"  she  told  him,  when  he  hinted  of  attempts  to 
stifle  him.  He  wrung  her  hand  and  thanked  her :  she  had 
fanned  the  pugilist  to  a  fresh  round. 

The  vicar  had  at  last  to  be  "  not  at  home  "  when  Tris- 
tram kept  coming  to  propound  horrible  theoretical  cases, 
wishing  to  be  told  what,  in  this,  that,  or  the  other,  was 
a  man's  Christian  duty.  Mr.  Hannam  felt  bound  to 
remember  that  he  was  not  only  a  Christian  but  a  neigh- 
bour, when  delivering  his  answer.  He  endeavoured  to 
evade  a  decision,  by  deprecating  so  young  a  man 
entangling  himself  in  such  moral  conundrums. 

"  Take  it  that  the  case  were  my  own  ?  "  said  Tristram. 
"  You  hear  what's  said." 

"  Your  duty  would  be  to  your  father  first,  I  think," 
responded  the  vicar  cautiously.    "  You  are  under  age." 

The  youth  asked  whether  coming  of  age  were  an 
ordinance  of  the  Church. 

He  was  reminded  that  marriage  had  its  legal  as  well 
as  its  moral  side.    Minority  involved  an  obstacle. 

Tristram  thought  that  parents  as  well  as  sons  might 
fail  to  see  what  was  their  clear  duty,  and  might  need 
discreet  and  learned  ministry  to  show  it  them.  '  Will 
you  meet  my  father?"  he  asked.  "Will  you  speak  to 
him?" 

"  Do  you  desire  to  give  me  any  message  to  him  ?  " 


VIRTUE    IN    A    SWELLED    HEAD     343 

"  I  have  put  the  same  thing  to  him  as  to  you.  He  says 
I  insult  him." 

"  Probably  you  have  shown  temper,"  observed  Mr. 
Hannam,  and  checked  all  further  discussion ;  it  was  im- 
possible, he  said,  for  him  to  come  between  father  and 
son.  "  Your  duty  towards  your  father  is  best  learned  at 
home ;  you  need  not  come  to  me  to  define  it :  you  make 
me  suspect  your  motives." 

The  absurd  youth  gave  him  every  reason  for  so  doing 
with  his  next  question :  "  Why  is  Lizzie  Haycraft  turned 
off  from  work  here?  Why  are  you  turning  out  her 
father?" 

"  Why,"  asked  the  vicar,  "  are  these  subjects  any  con- 
cern of  yours  ?  " 

"  I  am  friends  with  them." 

"  It  would  be  well  if  you  were  not.  Some  friendships 
lead  to  trouble.  Over  the  whole  of  this  business  some 
one  has  very  much  to  answer  for." 

Wind  of  this  came  to  Lady  Petwyn  in  a  request  from 
Tristram  that  she  would  find  Lizzie  Haycraft  employ- 
ment. 

"  Find  your  Beale  Isoud  employment?"  enquired  the 
dame;  "what  does  she  do?     Needlework?" 

"  Yes,  that,  and  washing." 

"Of  dirty  linen  in  public?  It  seems  you  help  her. 
Very  well,  send  her  along !  " 

"  You  mean  it?" 

She  did.  Lizzie,  cast  off  at  the  Vicarage,  was  taken  in 
at  the  Hall.  Mr.  Hannam  remonstrated ;  Lady  Petwyn 
bade  him  be  charitable.  Tristram  had  the  proud  feeling 
of  having  scored  a  point  against  the  enemy. 

He  saw  an  enemy  in  near'y  everybody  now :  they  were 
as  numerous  as  his  friends  were  few.  Marcia  had  been 
sent  away  with  her  mother  out  of  reach  of  his  contami- 
nating influence ;  Raymond  was  still  absent ;  MacAllister 


344  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

unscathed,  went  on  still  in  wickedness,  a  sign  to  Tristram 
that  his  mission  was  as  yet  unaccomplished. 

For  relief,  one  day,  he  became  a  truant  from  work,  and 
flew  over  to  the  Sage,  who  had  begun  asking  for  him  once 
more.  He  found  him  feeble,  but  as  full  as  ever  of  cranks 
and  petulant  reproof  of  him. 

At  the  tender  pressure  of  the  old  man's  hands  on  his 
shoulders,  the  poor  youth  was  ready  to  lift  up  his  voice 
and  weep :  the  relief  of  level  companionship  in  an  elder 
who  yet  differed  from  him  in  most  things  was  so  great. 

They  talked  on  many  subjects,  of  much  very  near  to 
the  trouble  the  young  man's  pride  had  brought  on  him. 
The  elder  discerned  a  spirit,  befogged  by  the  fumes 
of  some  passion,  tilting  at  windmills.  He  counselled 
peace  as  the  best  wisdom  for  youth,  because  the  hardest 
to  attain. 

"  But  fighting  must  be  right  sometimes  ?  " 

"  Yes,  under  a  higher  authority." 

"Is  not  conscience  that?" 

"  Conscience  may  enlist  you  in  a  cause.  To  assert  it 
singly,  if  literal  fighting  is  what  you  mean,  brings  you 
down  to  the  duel." 

"Down?  Is  not  the  duel  sometimes  the  only  right 
way?  "  asked  Tristram.    The  fighter  rang  in  his  tones. 

'  The  duel,"  said  the  Sage,  "  was  a  necessary  institution 
in  its  day  ;  it  has  lost  its  use  now  in  civilised  countries. 
Like  the  mastodon,  it  is  no  longer  needed  in  the  jungles 
of  the  cooler  sphere  we  live  in.  Yesterday,  fifty  years 
ago  that  is  to  say,  it  had  become  immoral ;  it  has  now 
sunk  lower,  and  has  become  ridiculous. 

"  Of  its  immorality  here  is  an  instance  out  of  my  own 
youth,  when  the  transition  from  the  immoral  to  the 
ridicu'ous  was  taking  place.  A  man  of  my  native  town, 
with  more  than  a  finger  in  trade,  had  married  a  too  fair 
lady,  his  superior  in  rank.    Out  of  the  shop  he  was  pre- 


VIRTUE    IN    A    SWELLED    HEAD     345 

sentable :  for  her  sake  the  upper  quality  would  sit  in  his 
wife's  parlour  and  drink  tea.  If  her  husband  came  in, 
they  merely  shortened  their  stay,  without  at  once  rising 
to  go.  He  took  no  offence  at  it ;  and  was  never  in  a  hurry 
for  recognition. 

"  One  young  roysterer,  a  buck  of  the  county,  thought 
the  lady  '  devilish  fair,'  rumour  said  she  was  flattered  by 
his  attentions ;  anyway,  for  her  sake,  he  became  intimate 
with  the  shopman,  sat  down  at  his  table,  borrowed  money 
of  him,  and  at  last  gets  caught  making  round  love  to  his 
wife. 

"  What  does  our  shopman  do  when  he  hears  of  it  ? 
Shut  his  door  on  a  scoundrel,  and  so  let  the  thing  go? 
Not  for  a  moment !  Bitten  with  gentility  he  sends  him 
a  challenge,  and,  being  disdained,  whips  his  man  in  the 
street  one  quiet  night  before  a  few  witnesses ;  perhaps 
chooses  his  time  shrewdly,  when  the  gallant  is  in  drink 
and  unsteady  on  his  legs.  Gives  as  his  reason  that  the 
fellow  had  come  drunk,  and  used  unseemly  language 
in  his  wife's  presence ;  all  of  which  was  literally  true. 
When  a  leading  gentleman  of  the  place  backs  him  up,  it 
becomes  certain  that  the  meeting  must  come  off.  This 
gentleman,  who  offers  to  second  him,  says  '  What  can 
you  handle? '  and  is  reminded  that  the  other  side  has  the 
choosing  of  weapons,  himself  remaining  the  challenger : 
an  elementary  piece  of  knowledge  from  an  honest  fellow 
swaggering  at  gentlemanly  revenge.  The  shopkeeper 
owns  he  can  hit  a  bull's-eve  if  it  be  a  tub  across  the  breadth 
of  his  back-yard ;  and  can  make  the  preliminary  passes ; 
that  is  about  all.  He  puts  his  point  frankly :  '  Sir,  I  have 
no  wish  to  kill,  or  to  be  killed.  But  my  wife  is  a  lady 
born  ;  and,  as  her  husband,  I  am  to  be  treated  as  a  gentle- 
man. My  opponent  is  an  expert,  I  am  told.  If  I  can 
get  through  his  guard  I  will ;  if  not,  let  him  pink  me 
where  he  likes,  and  I'll  carry  a  scar  which  my  wife  will 


346  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

regard  honourably.'     The  remark  shows,  perhaps,  why 
the  poor  fellow  insisted  on  fighting. 

"  In  the  end  they  met.  Not  being  born  to  such  things, 
and  feeling  his  courage  in  him,  the  gallant  shopman  must 
needs  swagger  a  little.  His  opponent  merely  plays  with 
him,  and  feigns  a  miss  or  two.  '  Bad !  '  says  the  trader, 
and  hacks  out ;  and  '  Bad !  '  again.  Pitying  on-lookers 
can  scarcely  refrain  from  laughing. 

"  The  right  thing,  you'll  say,  was  to  disarm  him ;  "but 
the  other,  growing  careless,  fumbles  a  ward,  barely  es- 
capes being  touched,  and  is  told  '  Bad ! '  for  the  third 
time.  Being  true,  it  stings  him ;  this  talking  target  shall 
be  permitted  no  longer. 

"  At  the  sight,  one  of  the  seconds  exclaims  in  irre- 
pressible pity  against  so  adroit  a  cruelty.  '  Good ! '  cries 
the  excellent  shopman,  and  drops  choking  with  his  own 
blood. 

"Where  was  honour  in  that  miserable  affair?" 

Tristram  thought  the  wife  would  find  in  widowhood  a 
husband  worthy  to  be  sorrowed  over. 

"  It  is  to  be  feared,"  said  the  Sage,  "  that  her  grief 
only  began  a  month  after  she  had  married  the  other 
party." 

"  Yet  he  died  finely,  and  like  a  gentleman !  "  asserted 
the  youth. 

Replied  the  Sage,  "  Or  like  puss,  when  the  field's  after 
him,  leading  his  own  funeral  procession.  I  doubt  if 
'  gentleman  '  was  added  to  his  epitaph.  And  you  see  how 
little  his  gentlemanly  effort  saved  his  wife  from  a  fate 
which,  as  a  shopman,  he  might  have  averted.  One 
scarcely  knows  whether  to  laugh  or  cry  over  him." 

"  I'd  never  laugh !  "  dedared  Tristram.  "  I  think  that 
to  meet  his  man  was  the  right  instinct.  Are  you  against 
fists  even  ?  " 

"  Fists,  ah  no !  "  replied  the  Sage,  "  I  grant  certain 


VIRTUE    IN    A    SWELLED    HEAD     347 

insults  call  for  personal  chastisement ;  man  is  still  a  fight- 
ing animal,  when  he  protects  the  honour  of  his  women. 
But  he  need  not  risk  murder  and  suicide  in  keeping 
scoundrels  their  proper  distance.  The  fist  of  an  honest 
man  may  sometimes  do  the  work  of  the  finger  of  God, 
and  write  truth  on  the  face  of  cowardice." 

If  Tristram  had  come  to  the  Sage  with  any  idea  of 
pistols  all  round,  as  a  cure  for  injuries  in  the  cause  he 
was  championing,  this  praise  of  fists  may  have  helped  to 
bring  his  histrionics  to  a  saner  level.  But  were  these  to 
be  his  remedy,  he  had  needed  the  equipment  of  Briareus 
to  smite  all  the  mischievous  mouths  that  now  wagged 
tongues  at  him. 

On  his  return  home  he  found  that  a  stroke  had  been 
prepared  for  his  folly  which  he  had  not  just  then  calcu- 
lated on.  To  get  him  away  from  a  neighbourhood  where 
his  presence  did  mischief,  where  every  day  threatened 
to  see  him  plunging  into  yet  madder  course,  Mr.  Gavney 
had  taken  means  to  snap  off  his  independence  at  the 
roots.  Within  a  fortnight  London  was  to  swallow  him 
up ;  and  for  the  one  year  his  father  spoke  of  he  under- 
stood it  was  to  be  banishment.  After  that,  if  he  were 
wise,  he  would  accept  the  higher  training  which  the 
opportunity  afforded,  and  remain  to  acquire  that  culture 
in  commerce  which  only  a  great  business  house  could 
supply  him.  He  saw  in  black  and  white  documents  prac- 
tically binding  him ;  his  father's  name  to  them,  making 
him  a  chattel  of  trade ;  he  was  reminded  that  in  the  eyes 
of  the  law  he  was  yet  an  infant.  Shrewdest  stroke  of 
all  was  word  of  his  mother  returning  with  Marcia  in 
a  few  days  to  give  him  his  send-off  under  a  veneer  of 
harmony.  He  detected  the  leash  and  muzzle,  to  one 
in  his  present  mood  a  form  of  constraint  difficult 
to  endure.  He  spoke  on  the  matter  with  a  cold  calm  he 
did  not  feel. 


348  A     MODERN     ANTAEUS 

"  You  had  better  delay  their  coming,  sir,  if  it  be  for 
me ;  I  may  decide  not  to  go." 

Mr.  Gavney  answered,  "  That  is  not  left  to  you  for 
discussion." 

I  lis  retort,  "  I  did  not  name  discussion,  decision  was 
my  word !  "'  was  uttered  in  a  manner  with  which  his 
father  was  now  becoming  familiar. 

Blow  for  blow,  and  to  promote  with  passionate  effront- 
ery the  rivalry  of  incompatible  codes,  was  now  the  longing 
of  his  heart.  Told  he  was  a  child,  he  was  childishly  set 
on  proving  himself  a  man  ;  pride  forbade  him  to  quit  the 
scene,  and  the  cause  he  had  emptily  championed  without 
some  ringing  counter-stroke.  Lizzie's  honest  name  still 
stood  needing  to  be  vindicated.  Fiercely  to  his  head 
rushed  the  resolution  to  put  theory  in  practice,  and  practi- 
cally, by  the  same  act,  to  give  justification  to  the  talkers 
of  scandal. 

'  I  love  her!  "  he  cried,  to  fight  down  a  doubt  which 
threw  ridicule  on  the  scheme ;  and  did  not  know  that  it 
was  self-love  which  carried  him  at  such  speed  along 
Randogger  Edge,  to  win  a  point  that  would  stagger  those 
who  traded  on  his  infancy. 


CHAPTER   XXX 

TRISTRAM     ENCOUNTERS    OBSTACLES 

'T1RISTRAM  found  Lizzie  in  deep  depression;  the 
time  for  leaving  her  old  home  was  near.  The 
uprooting  of  her  father  from  the  one  spot  which  could 
have  kept  him  settled  for  his  old  age,  was  the  thing  which 
weighed  most  upon  her  mind. 

"  I'd  go,"  she  said  in  recounting  her  trouble  to  Tris- 
tram, "  I  would  go  willingly,  if  that  'ud  end  the  matter ; 
but  Dad's  pride's  bound  up  in  it  now ;  he'll  not  stay  on  any 
condition  if  he  can't  keep  me  as  well.  He  talks  savage 
at  me  if  I  mention  it ;  but  at  night  I  see  him  looking  hard 
when  he's  cleaning  his  guns,  and  I  know  he's  minding 
how  soon  he'll  have  to  leave  it  all  and  go.  Dear  Mr. 
Tristram,  the  thought  of  it  do  wear  him  so ;  it's  only  a 
month  now  between  this  and  then.  Have  'e  not  noticed 
how  thin  he  be  getting  ?  " 

"  Much  may  happen  in  a  month,  Liz,"  he  replied  to 
comfort  her.  He  spoke  truth,  though  events  went  far 
from  the  thing  that  he  planned  while  he  spoke. 

The  little  cause  of  so  much  trouble  lay  fast  asleep  on 
his  mother's  arm.  Tristram  turned  to  gaze  on  the  uncon- 
scious face ;  as  he  did  so  the  girl's  eyes  were  on  his. 
Thinking  of  what  he  wished  to  say,  with  stare  grown 
intent  and  fixed,  he  was  aware  that  a  shawl  had  been 
drawn  between  him  and  the  object  of  his  regard.  Look- 
ing up  he  met  in  Lizzie's  gaze  a  half-frightened  enquiry ; 

349 


350  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

his  glance  went  down  again  on  the  covered  head.  He 
understood. 

Generous  pity  swelled  in  his  blood;  he  laid  his  hand 
on  hers.  "  Liz,"  he  asked  softly,  "  haven't  you  given  him 
a  name  yet  ?  " 

She  shook  her  head,  eyeing  him  still. 

"  Don't  you  mean  to?"  he  enquired. 

"  I  would  like "  she  said,  and  stopped.    After  some 

hesitation  she  added,  "  A  name  did  ought  to  mean  some- 
thing ;  once  you  did  tell  me  what  your  name  meant,  and 
the  thought  of  it's  come  back.  '  Sorrow-born,'  you  said. 
That  would  have  done  well  enough  for  him.  Some  day, 
when  I'm  right  away  from  here,  I  would  like  to  give  him 
vour  name ;  I've  not  had  a  better  friend." 

Suddenly  as  she  envisaged  the  objection,  her  face  grew 
stained.  Before  she  could  cover  her  remark,  he  said, 
"  That  is  just  what  I  have  come  to  ask." 

Again  she  shook  her  head  at  him ;  confusion  made  her 
look  down. 

"  I  shouldn't  ever  have  named  such  a  thing,"  she  mur- 
mured ;  "  I  forgot  folk  'ud  be  saying  things  about  you 
if  I  did." 

He  was  surprised  at  her  ignorance.      '  They  do  say 

it!" 

"  They  do !  Oh !  "  A  spasm  shook  her  features ;  shame 
fought  with  anger,  and  anger  fell  to  ruinous  weeping. 
With  heaving  shoulders  she  turned  and  leaned  her  face 
to  the  wall. 

"  Oh,  my  friend !  "  she  cried  in  shaken  speech,  "  do  'e 
go  and  leave  me!  I  only  bring  pain  on  them  as  is  kind 
to  me.     Go!     Don't  ever  come  near  me  again." 

She  was  more  moved  than  Tristram  had  ever  seen 
her ;  more  hurt  now  for  him  than  she  had  ever  been  for 
herself.  Her  generous  grief  accused  him  for  having  let 
word  of  it  go. 


ENCOUNTERS     OBSTACLES  351 

"  Liz,"  he  cried,  "  I  shouldn't  have  told  you  this,  but 
for  the  other  thing  that  I  wanted  to  say.  Listen !  I  ask 
you:  will  you  give  your  boy  my  name?  Yes,  the  whole 
of  it,  I  mean  —  the  right  to  it ;  yourself  too  ?  Do  you 
understand  ?  " 

She  turned  slowly  round  to  face  his  meaning.  He  gave 
her  no  chance  but  to  see  clearly  what  it  was.  "  Liz,  dear, 
say  yes !  "  he  cried,  and  having  his  arms  about  her,  had 
the  child  as  well. 

She  pushed  him  back  with  one  hand,  forbidding  him 
with  all  her  force,  though  her  face  held  no  anger. 

"  But,  Liz,"  he  urged,  discovering  rejection  in  the  act, 
"  do  you  think  I  don't  love  you,  then  ? " 

"  I  know  you  do,"  she  answered.  "  You  hadn't  got  to 
speak  it  for  me  to  know  that.  You  be  the  truest  friend  I 
have  in  the  world,  Mr.  Tristram." 

"  I  want  the  right  to  be !  " 

"  You  have  it ;  I  can't  give  'e  more." 

"  Oh,  Liz,"  cried  Tristram,  trying  to  measure  his 
chagrin,  "  won't  you  believe  I  want  you  ?  " 

"  It's  not  true,"  she  answered.  "  You  want  to  be  good 
to  me ;  that's  a  different  thing.  Don't  'e  say  no  more ; 
this  is  not  the  way  you  can  do  it.  I  tell  'e  it  could 
never  be !  " 

Dissatisfied  he  opened  his  lips  to  plead  further  the 
cause  of  pride.  "  I  ask  'e,"  she  said  quickly,  "  not  to 
speak  of  it  again !  no,  no ;  it  pains  me  too  much.  I 
can't  even  thank  'e  with  any  word  that'll  say  what  I  feel." 

He  cried  out,  drawing  his  hand  back  from  the  pressure 
of  her  lips.  "  Oh,  Liz,  how  you  shame  me !  "  he  muttered, 
suffering  sharp  scruples  over  such  a  salute. 

"  And  you  me,  dear,  dear  friend,"  murmured  the  girl. 
"  God  can  never  bless  you  enough  now  to  please  me ! 
But  you'll  not  talk  of  this  any  more.    Let  a1l  be  as  it  is !  " 

Her  simple  act  of  homage  had  silenced  him.     What 


352  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

he  said  during  the  rest  of  their  interview  was  wholly- 
sensible,  and  much  more  kind  in  fact. 

Hearing  that  old  Haycraft  was  up  in  the  paddock  at 
the  back  of  the  cottage  he  went  across  to  have  a  talk  with 
him,  and  finding  him  busy  at  the  repair  of  his  tackle, 
lent  a  hand  to  the  work.  They  conversed  of  indifferent 
matters,  or  sat  silent,  not  speaking  what  lay  in  their 
thoughts.  Tristram  noticed  that  the  old  man's  lips  had 
a  new  trick,  shaping  continually  at  words  unuttered ;  his 
old  habit  of  equable  reserve  had  broken  down  under 
the  slow  fever  that,  through  blood  and  brain,  was  wasting 
him.  Lizzie  had  spoken  truly ;  his  body  was  showing 
the  gaunt  framework  of  its  former  strength,  and  the 
old  fire  of  his  eye  was  slow  in  kindling  under  the  shaggy 
brow. 

Suddenly  Haycraft,  conscious  that  he  was  watched, 
cast  on  his  companion  a  searching  regard,  fixed  a  rigid 
mouth,  and  laid  down  his  work. 

"Speak  out,  Ben!"  said  Tristram.  "What  is  it? 
You've  something  on  your  mind." 

"  Like  enough,  I  have,"  retorted  the  other.  "  So've 
you ;  both  on  us  'a  got  it ;  it  sticks  an'  it  'ont  come  away." 

"  Some  things  do  take  a  time,  Ben,"  said  Tristram. 

"Time?"  returned  the  old  man;  "that's  the  thing  I 
can't  wait  for ;  there  ain't  much  time  for  me !  I  be  a-goin', 
I  says  to  meself,  I  be  a-goin' !     Soon  I'll  be  gone !  " 

'  Where  do  you  go,  Ben?  Isn't  it  about  time  you 
were  looking  round  ?  " 

"  That  be  true,  Muster  Tristram ;  it  be  time,  and  the 
time  be  gettin'  on  ;  and  I've  bin  lookin'  round ;  never  a 
day  but  I've  bin  lookin'  round.  And  now  I  be  come 
back  on  the  thing  I  thought  foremost,  'fore  ever  I  said  a 
word  to  'e.  Muster  Tristram,  there  be  summat  you  do 
know." 

"  But  I  know  nothing :  not  a  thing !  " 


ENCOUNTERS     OBSTACLES  353 

"  You've  a  name  in  yor  mind,  if  you  chose  to  speak 
it." 

"  In  my  mind?  yes,  Ben,  but  I  can't  go  on  it.  If  only  I 
could!" 

"  You  think  my  girl's  had  wrong  done  her?  " 

"  Yes,  Ben,  that  I  could  swear,"  whispered  Tristram, 
and  his  eye  grew  fierce. 

Haycraft  pitched  out  a  great  oath.  "  And  so  here  be 
we  two,"  he  cried,  "  both  much  of  a  mind,  and  you  with  a 
name  as  you  could  name,  and  nothin'  to  come  of  it ;  and 
my  time  welly  nigh  over.  Muster  Tristram,  I  must  be  at 
the  rights  of  this  'fore  I  go !  " 

'  Your  way  to  the  rights  may  bring  you  out  wrong, 
Ben,"  the  boy  warned  him.  "  If  you  must  tackle  it,  best 
go  quick  and  straight ;  face  your  man.  Yes,  if  I  could  be 
by,  I'd  trust  to  the  instincts  of  the  two  of  us." 

"  You  mean  to  know  whether  he  spoke  true  or  lied?  " 

"  I  mean  that." 

"  So  now,  will  you  name  the  man  to  me,  then  ?  " 

But  Tristram  had  still  a  scruple ;  his  code  of  honour 
was  more  punctilious  towards  an  enemy  than  a  friend ; 
and  his  head  was  cool  enough  to  tell  him  that  vengeance 
in  Haycraft's  hands  would  not  stop  on  the  side  of  mercy. 
He  must  be  sure.  Forlornly  he  had  to  admit  to  himself 
that  he  held  no  proof.  So  for  a  wrhile  he  kept  his  own 
counsel,  promising  to  see  Haycraft  again  in  a  few  days' 
time. 

"  I  say,  Ben,  don't  be  in  a  great  hurry !  "  he  said,  laying 
kind  hands  on  the  old  man.  "  Mind  you,  it's  Lizzie  you 
hurt  most,  if  you  get  yourself  into  a  scrape." 

The  old  fellow's  ears  were  half  deaf  to  him.  Tristram 
left  him  sedentary,  at  his  task.  Looking  back,  he  noticed 
the  more  deliberate  movements  and  the  deeper  stoop  of 
the  head,  giving  si<rn  of  faculties  and  sinews  less  imme- 
diately  responsive  to  his  call  on  them  than  of  yore.    From 

2  A 


354  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

his  speech  also  the  boy  had  realised  how  suddenly  his 
friend  had  aged;  it  was  with  a  sad  heart  that  he  turned 
away. 

Wrath  in  his  heart  at  the  position  of  affairs  at  home 
drove  Tristram  further  afield.  That  evening  he  supped 
with  Daddy  Wag-top,  and  delighted  him  thereafter  with 
readings  from  his  beloved  classics.  To  confer  so  much 
pleasure  to  a  simple  heart  lulled  his  sick  soul.  "  Shall  I 
come  over  and  stay  with  you  for  a  few  days  ? "  he  en- 
quired of  his  host,  and  saw  the  light  he  anticipated  come 
into  the  lonely  man's  eyes.  In  a  high  mood  for  asserting 
his  threatened  independence  he  quitted  home  the  next  day, 
leaving  conjecture  to  work  alarm  as  to  his  whereabouts. 
For  his  mother's  sake  he  posted  a  line  to  Marcia,  hinting 
that  he  would  return  when  his  mind  was  made  up  on  the 
London  project.  Thus  the  news  came  back  to  his  father 
at  second  hand,  revealing  yet  a  new  aspect  of  his  son's 
rebellion  against  authority. 

For  a  week  the  culprit  employed  himself  very  happily 
between  farm  labour  and  classical  readings;  Bagstock's 
head  wagged  merrily  all  day  over  his  great  good  fortune. 
In  the  evenings  his  guest  read  to  him,  so  assiduously 
that  the  yeoman  was  seized  with  a  veritable  belief  that 
his  library  contained  rare  things  attractive  to  the  literary 
mind. 

"  You  are  the  only  master  I  do  Latin  with  now,"  said 
Tristram.  "  I  come  to  you  to  feel  young."  He  could 
have  stayed  for  ever. 

A  wish  to  look  up  at  his  mother's  window  and  know 
whether  she  had  returned ;  to  throw  up  to  Marcia's  and 
be  let  in  for  a  midnight  conference,  and  have  a  scolding 
from  her  kind  tongue;  to  let  himself  out  again  in  the 
early  morning,  to  go  over  to  Hill  Alwyn  and  steal  a  ride ; 
in  fact  a  general  wish  for  social  contact  once  more  came 
at  a  week's  end  to  disturb  the  contentment  which  had 


ENCOUNTERS     OBSTACLES  355 

lasted  so  long.  He  spoke  his  mood  to  his  host,  naming 
such  strange  hours  for  his  going  and  return,  that  the  yeo- 
man for  the  first  time  had  an  inkling  that  he  entertained 
a  clandestine  guest.  He  put  the  question :  Did  Mr.  Gav- 
ney  know  whose  roof  was  honoured  by  his  son's  pres- 
ence? 

"  I  have  not  told  him,"  said  Tristram ;  "  if  he  chooses  to 
find  out,  he  may." 

Benjamin  Bagstock  received  a  shock.  Reverence  of  a 
father  was  with  him  an  infatuation  ;  it  ran  equal  with  his 
craze  for  the  classics.  He  sighed,  stumbled  for  speech, 
and  could  not,  'twixt  affection  for  his  dear  young  bene- 
factor and  his  creed  of  filial  duty  find  mild  words  honest 
enough  for  his  homily  on  parental  claims. 

Tristram  perceiving  a  yeasting  of  conscience  under 
cover  of  many  kind  words,  bade  him  be  comforted.  "  I 
go  to-night,"  he  said.  "  If  I  come  back  it  shall  be  with 
permission." 

He  reckoned  that  to  promise  so  much  meant  a  longish 
farewell  to  Daddy  Wag-top's  company. 

He  gave  him  good  measure  at  parting,  in  the  way  of 
Latin  hexameters.  They  held  sitting  in  the  low  farm- 
parlour  till  a  late  hour ;  no  rank  dissolute  vintage  ap- 
peared to  trouble  the  feast ;  the  Tramp  had  long  since 
instituted  cider  in  its  stead.  He  had  sworn  that  apple- 
orchards  grew  round  Olympus,  and  that  sliced  apples 
floated  on  the  cups  of  the  Gods  when  with  Peleus  they 
feasted.  The  Greek  origin  of  cider  thus  set  in  evidence, 
backed  by  a  twisted  classical  allusion,  Bagstock  ever  after 
held  the  beverage  in  high  honour,  and  let  it  be  the  drink 
wherewith  Tristram  thereafter  crowned  his  quotations. 
His  musty  old  Madeira  went  under.  The  fable  gave  con- 
tentment to  two,  and  the  farmer's  board  becoming  thereby 
hospitable  in  fact,  as  well  as  fancy,  led  them  into  late 
habits. 


356  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

Tristram  read  till  eleven  sounded.  When  he  rose  to 
go,  wind  blew  and  rain  struck  the  windows,  telling  of 
weather  without  that  had  gone  unperceived.  Bagstock, 
with  courtesy  before  morals,  prophesied  a  wet  night,  and 
begged  him  to  stay. 

"  No,"  said  Tristram,  with  a  glance  out  at  the  sky,  "  it 
will  clear."  Having  set  his  word  on  it,  some  instinct  held 
him ;  a  notion  of  the  "  evil  chance  "  cropping  up  again,  he 
wished  to  get  away. 

Bagstock's  word  was  the  truer.  The  close  tortuous 
paths  of  Randogger  kept  the  traveller  fairly  dry,  though 
in  the  tree-tops  whispered  a  continuous  mizzle  of  rain. 
Crossing  the  open  from  Randogger  Edge,  and  thence 
under  Parson's  Coppice,  to  the  accompaniment  of  a 
thorough  drenching,  he  could  see  the  Haycrafts'  lonely 
cottage  still  showing  a  light,  and  wondered  why  they 
should  be  up  so  late. 

Along  the  Hill  Alwyn  footpaths  he  was  again  protected 
from  weather  that  had  now  settled  miserably  till  the  small 
hours ;  the  air  had  by  this  time  grown  darker,  showing 
that  behind  the  blistering  grey  clouds  the  moon  had  gone 
its  setting. 

Suddenly  he  was  conscious  of  an  obstacle  in  the  path, 
—  too  late.  He  stumbled  and  found  himself  across  a 
man's  body. 

Living  or  dead,  he  wondered :  most  likely  only  drunk. 
He  heard  a  groan,  not  like  a  drunken  man's. 

'  Who  are  you?  "  he  cried ;  and  getting  silence,  scraped 
a  light  with  difficulty  from  half  damp  matches,  and  saw 
in  a  brief  spurt  of  flame  Ben  Haycraft  with  disfigured 
visage  looking  at  him;  a  death's  head,  still  staring  and 
conscious ;  nothing  moved  in  it  but  the  eyes. 


CHAPTER    XXXI 

TRISTRAM    EXTENDS    PROTECTION    TO   AN    ENEMY 

OICK  at  heart,  Tristram  beheld  the  shape  of  his 
fears. 

"  Ben !  "  he  cried,  when  darkness  fell  again  between 
them.  "  Dear  man,  what  has  been  done  to  you?  Are  you 
much  hurt  ?  " 

Receiving  no  answer,  he  laid  hands  on  the  inert  mass, 
and  groped  to  find  how  much  life  lay  in  it.  By  the  uni- 
form moisture  of  the  garments  he  guessed  the  fallen  man 
must  have  lain  exposed  there  for  over  an  hour.  The 
Tramp's  mind  was  now  all  to  fetch  help,  for  alone  he 
could  not  carry  a  man  of  Haycraft's  weight.  To  take 
stock  of  his  injuries  he  struck  a  second  match,  and  saw 
enough  to  know  what  immediate  bandaging  was  needed. 

The  light  fell  on  a  burnt-out  end.  "  What's  o'clock?" 
came  in  a  voice  like  that  of  an  awakened  sleeper,  or  as  the 
enquiry  of  a  brain  fuddled  with  drink. 

To  the  reply  telling  of  midnight  come,  his  "  Yo  be 
Muster  Tristram?  "  showed  clearer  perceptions. 

"  Yes,  it's  me,"  answered  the  boy,  and  felt  a  hand 
thrown  feebly  up  against  him,  astray,  and  borne  down 
again  by  its  own  weight. 

"  Good  lad !  "  muttered  the  old  man  as  their  hands  met 
and  clasped. 

Placing  his  cap  under  the  damaged  head  that  it  might 
have  softer  lying,  he  tore  into  rough  bandages  a  shirt 

357 


358  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

from  the  wallet  he  carried;  and  did  his  best  to  adjust 
them  to  the  wounded  part. 

Haycraft  seemed  unconcerned  with  his  doings,  his 
mind  all  abroad  on  matters  outside  his  present  condition. 
As  pressure  on  the  weights  of  a  clock  adds  impetus  to  its 
going,  so  it  seemed  did  the  drag  on  his  physical  forces 
bring  about  a  quicker  working  of  the  brain. 

'  Them  'ounds !  Where  be  they  gone  to  ?  "  he  started 
muttering;  and  in  the  darkness  dry  and  low  his  voice 
went  on.  'Did  yer  see  any  on  'em?  Muster  Tris- 
tram, haven't  yer  seen  ere  a  one?  I  put  me  sign  on  'em 
all ;  I'd  know  'em  again.  There  was  three  ;  ah !  there  was 
four  on  'em  at  one  time,  but  I  did  for  'im." 

"  Who  were  they,  Ben  ?  Couldn't  you  tell  ?  "  asked 
Tristram,  still  bandaging. 

"  Look  about,  lad,  look  about,  and  you'll  find  'em ;  they 
can't  be  got  far !  "  The  husking  voice  spoke  in  an  ex- 
alted tone,  impressive  coming  out  of  the  blackness  of 
night,  and  from  a  bulk  of  body  so  weak,  so  drenched,  it 
seemed  already  to  belong  to  the  soil  on  which  it  lay. 

"  I  tell  'e  how  it  was,"  he  went  on.  "  They  won't  tell  'e 
for  themselves  —  one  won't.  I  come  along,  carrying  my 
Liz,  and  the  time  gettin'  dark ;  up  they  leps  out  of  no- 
where, an'  behind  comes  down  a  knock  on  me  'ead. 
Then  I  sets  Liz  to  one  side.  There's  three  up  afore  me ; 
two  on  'em  goes  down ;  one  stays  there  thinkin'  whether 
he'll  get  up  again ;  thinks  a  good  while,  'e  do.  Then  one 
—  'e  come  behind  me  again,  and  all  three  of  'em  on  me,  I 
goes  down.  Man  under  me  'e  outs  with  'is  knife.  '  Oh, 
yer  will,  will  yer?  '  sez  I,  and  quicker  nor  'e  knows  'e  gets 
his  knife  back  into  him,  and  kingdom  come  into  the  bar- 
gain." 

The  Tramp  listened  bewildered ;  this  tale  he  had  heard 
before,  of  a  day  when  Haycraft  was  twenty  years 
younger ;  aye,  and  had  seen  on  the  brawny  body  the  scars 
of  that  fight. 


PROTECTION    TO    AN    ENEMY       359 

"  Shut  talking,  Ben !  "  said  he.  "  Quiet's  best  for  you 
now !  " 

Under  him  in  the  darkness  the  withered  voice  still  went 
on,  not  heeding  his  words,  drawing  the  narrative  to  its 
known  goal :  a  desolate  and  wintry  breath,  lifting  like 
dead  leaves  the  ghosts  of  a  buried  field. 

"  That  fellow,"  Haycraft  took  up  the  thread  of  his 
story,  "  the  one  as  had  got  his  knife  back  again ;  well,  they 
others  seein'  so  much  done,  an'  havin'  had  sommat  their- 
selves,  they  sheers  off,  they  do.  And  for  'im,  where  I  done 
it,  there  I  puts  'im  to  rot.  Little  Liz,  'er  a  lookin'  on  an' 
crowin'  all  the  time  —  Just  done  it  as  you  come  along. 
'  So  that's  ended,'  sez  I.  And  now  where  be  me  legs,  I 
wonder  ?  " 

Tristram  was  giving  but  half  an  ear  to  such  talk. 
"  Your  head's  been  cut  open,"  said  he,  "  and  you've  been 
bleeding  like  a  pig;  I've  got  to  get  you  home." 

"  Aye,"  murmured  the  old  man,  "  cut  open,  be  I  ? 
'Twan't  done  with  a  knife,  though.  'Twas  the  red  'un 
done  that ;  he  was  the  one  as  fought  fair.  '  Man  to  man,' 
sez  I.  That  must  'a  bin  after  the  rest ;  and  'ow  a  come 
to  get  the  better  o'  me.  'Twas  you ! '  sez  I  to  'im ;  and  'e 
swears  a  dommed  lie  that  'twas  another.  When  'e  outs 
yor  name,  '  Dommed  liar !  '  sez  I,  and  struck  'im.  Where 
be  Liz  got  to  now  ?  " 

"  She's  at  home  waiting  for  you  to  come  in,"  said 
Tristram.  "  Ben,  you  lie  quiet  here  while  I  bring  her. 
You  must  be  got  home,  and  you  can't  do  it  on  your  own 
legs.    Are  you  comfortable  enough  to  be  left  ?  " 

"  A  wants  Liz,"  said  the  old  man. 

Tristram  gave  a  parting  pressure  to  his  hand  and  ran. 
After  brief  absence  he  returned,  with  Lizzie,  carrying 
restoratives  and  a  lantern.  They  found  the  old  man  dazed 
and  scarcely  conscious  of  their  presence ;  his  tongue  no 
longer  shaped  sentences  that  could  be  understood.     Be- 


360  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

tween  them  they  propped  him  up,  and  staggering  under 
the  weight  of  his  mighty  bones,  bore  him  home,  and  to 
the  bed  from  which  he  was  never  to  rise. 

Tristram  went  off  at  once  to  summon  medical  aid :  he 
had  more  than  four  miles  to  go,  and  the  stir  of  birds  in 
the  damp  woods  was  already  indicating  the  close  approach 
of  dawn  when  he  and  the  doctor  were  set  down  at  Hay- 
craft's  door. 

Returning  then  to  the  wood,  for  the  lantern  and  the 
things  he  had  left  thrown  down,  he  came  unexpectedly  on 
his  own  cap.  He  put  his  hand  to  his  head ;  whose  was  he 
wearing?  He  pulled  the  thing  off  and  examined  it. 
"  Ah !  "  he  murmured,  "  the  red  'un." 

He  searched  further ;  no  other  evidence  came  to  hand. 

Before  night  the  old  man  lay  dead ;  loss  of  blood  and 
failure  of  the  heart's  action  combined  to  account  for  the 
overthrow  of  that  tough  frame. 

During  those  hours  of  his  sinking  strength  he  had  but 
once  opened  his  eyes  on  his  watchers,  and  then  twice 
broke  silence  to  say,  "  The  red  'un,  he  fought  fair."  The 
reiteration  came  like  an  entreaty  for  his  hearers  to  under- 
stand. 

Tristram  saw  Lizzie  lift  and  fix  a  blank  stare  at  her 
father's  face ;  he  heard  her  murmur  of  desolate  reproach, 
"Oh,  Dad,  did  'e  think  I  lied  to  'e?"  —  strange  matter 
for  cogitation  to  him  who  held  handy  a  thing  which 
might  yet  prove  an  uncomfortable  fit  for  a  certain  head. 

At  noon  an  arm  of  the  law  arrived,  and  was  conducted 
by  Tristram  to  the  scene  of  the  tragedy.  He  told  as  much 
as  he  thought  good  at  present  for  law  and  order  to  know ; 
spoke  of  numbers,  quoting  Haycraft's  words,  who  was 
now  past  making  any  statement  of  his  own.  Under  his 
eyes  a  barren  search  was  conducted.  The  suppressor  of 
evidence  had  ever  one  hand  in  his  pocket  while  speaking. 

Parting  from  Lizzie  at  the  day's  end,  Tristram  saw  her 


PROTECTION    TO    AN    ENEMY       361 

calmly  prepared  to  pass  the  night  alone  in  company  with 
the  dead.  It  brought  out  doubly  the  pathetic  loneliness 
which  now  threatened  to  be  her  lot. 

He  put  his  hands  on  hers  to  say,  "  Liz,  my  word  still 
stands,  if  you  will  think  of  it.  Say  no  more  about  it 
now." 

She  shook  her  head  mutely,  her  mind  too  dulled  by  the 
strain  of  long  hours  for  speech  to  be  anything  but  an 
effort.  Letting  him  go  she  did  not  even  take  his  hand,  or 
show  signs  of  emotion  till  his  lips  touched  her  face.  At 
once  her  eyes  brimmed  and  colour  overspread  her  fea- 
tures ;  she  saw  him  only  through  mist  as  he  turned  away. 
That  was  their  good-night. 

Tristram  went  home  feeling  that  she  had  accepted, 
though  indefinitely,  the  protection  he  offered ;  he  was  con- 
tent now  to  let  it  take  whatever  form  she  wished,  though 
his  own  wish,  his  rebel  mood  being  now  in  the  ascendant, 
was  the  extreme  one. 

With  his  mind  thus  keyed,  he  had  to  face  at  home  the 
stern  demands  that  greeted  his  re-appearance. 

"Have  you  been  with  that  woman?"  his  father  en- 
quired.   The  question  embraced  his  whole  week's  absence. 

"  Not  in  the  way  you  mean,"  answered  his  son.  "  I 
have  seen  her ;  she  is  in  great  trouble ;  her  father  is  dead." 

Mr.  Gavney's  answer  expressed  a  cold  satisfaction.  "  It 
will  get  her  out  of  the  neighbourhood,"  was  his  comment 
upon  the  news.  It  stung  the  youth  to  a  reply  which  car- 
ried in  it  threat  of  destruction  to  the  whole  house  of  Gav- 
ney.    "  I  have  asked  her  to  marry  me,"  he  said. 

Words  had  not  succeeded  to  the  consternation  and 
wrath  which  this  statement  produced,  when  the  vicar,  Mr. 
Hannam,  was  announced.  Tristram  had  at  last  his  double 
quarry  in  hand ;  he  had  also  the  mood  for  pitting  them 
against  each  other  without  compassion.  Argument  be- 
tween the  two,  himself  directing  it,  would,  he  knew,  hold 


362  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

no  water.  The  moral  of  the  unhappy  hour  that  followed 
was  that  it  is  peril  for  a  minister  of  the  Gospel  to  have 
social  standing  with  a  section  of  his  flock ;  it  is  damaging 
to  true  doctrine.  Let  the  door  close  on  that  unseemly- 
spectacle  :  high  voices  were  behind  it  for  one  hour  of  the 
clock.  ;'  Not  another  word !  "  in  the  raised  tones  of  Mr. 
Gavney  put  a  raw  finish  to  the  conference.  At  the  end  of 
it  that  unhappy  parent  deemed  it  his  duty  to  go  upstairs 
and  make  his  wife  ill  with  a  report  of  the  proceedings. 
He  had  all  the  success  he  anticipated. 

'  You  have  taken  ten  years  off  your  mother's  life,"  he 
said  to  his  son  when  they  met  again. 

"  If  you  could  add  one  to  mine,"  retorted  Tristram,  "  I 
would  be  thankful !  "  It  was  the  voice  of  rebellion  hun- 
gering to  be  full-fledged  and  in  possession  of  its  powers. 
For  Mr.  Gavney  the  morrows  became  dreadful  to  look 
forward  to. 

The  rebel  had  at  the  moment  a  troublesome  point  to 
solve  with  his  own  conscience.  Being  full  of  bad  blood, 
it  was  natural  that  he  should  solve  it  wrong.  In  his 
pocket  he  had  headgear  belonging  to  the  MacAllister :  in 
his  mind  Haycraft's  reiterated  testimony  to  that  brute's 
fairness  in  fight.  Over  and  above,  he  had  Lizzie's  mur- 
mured words  to  clear  a  brain  darkened  by  reasonable 
prejudice.  Lie  had  also,  being  a  rebel,  a  profound  distrust 
of  the  fair  dealing  of  the  law ;  he  decided,  therefore,  to  be 
judge  himself  in  a  matter  which  had  come,  as  it  were, 
under  his  own  jurisdiction. 

The  pomp  of  a  righted  conscience  carried  him  off  to 
beard  the  lion  in  his  den.  He  found  "  the  red  'un  "  ex- 
hibiting no  undue  alarm  at  his  appearance,  and  no  particu- 
lar deference.  A  nod  and  a  grunt  bade  him  stand  or  be 
seated.     MacAllister  remained  at  his  desk. 

"Yours,  I  think!"  said  Tristram,  and  tossed  the  in- 
criminating piece  across  to  him. 


PROTECTION    TO    AN    ENEMY       363 

"  Mine  it  is,"  said  MacAllister,  letting  it  lie. 

"  Found,  where  do  you  suppose?  " 

"  Where  I  imagine  you'd  have  done  well  to  leave  it," 
answered  the  bailiff,  unmoved. 

A  shrewd  answer !  An  attitude  of  bold  non-committal 
seemed  to  be  the  fellow's  line  of  defence.  Tristram  ap- 
proved it.    He  said :  — 

"  Mr.  MacAllister,  only  one  other  living  person  besides 
yourself  knows  a  bit  of  what  I  know ;  you  needn't  fear  a 
word  either  from  her  or  me.  I  know  now  that  you  were 
unjustly  suspected  of  a  certain  wrong ;  and  the  only  man 
who  could  have  charged  you  gave  his  good  word  to  ac- 
quit you  before  he  died." 

"  If  you  talk  of  charges  and  acquittals  it  would  be 
fairer  to  name  names,"  said  the  other  disdainfully. 

"  I  name  Haycraft,"  answered  Tristram. 

"  A  rogue  who  escaped  hanging." 

"  A  brave  man,  and  honourable,  according  to  his  lights. 
You  owe  him  a  kinder  word." 

"  Footpad  and  poacher's  my  word  for  him." 

"  As  you  will,"  said  Tristram.  "  If  you  did  him  or  his 
less  wrong  than  you  schemed,  you  may  be  glad  now  that 
you  failed.  His  death  needn't  trouble  you.  Every  dog 
has  a  right  to  his  day." 

MacAllister  nodded  agreement  to  that,  and  wished  him 
good-day.  "  Dog  yourself !  "  stood  implied.  "  And 
thank  you  for  nothing,"  said  MacAllister,  as  the  other 
departed. 

A  doubt  lay  in  Tristram's  mind  whether  he  had  cut  as 
fine  a  figure  on  the  judicial  bench  as  he  had  desired.  It 
should  have  warned  him. 

A  few  days  later,  at  the  inquest,  he  went  into  the  wit- 
ness-box with  a  magnanimous  mind.  He  was  flattered  to 
perceive  that  MacAllister  also  attended,  anxious,  no 
doubt,  to  hear  him  fulfil  the  part  he  had  promised  to  play. 


364  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

The  bailiff's  disdain  of  his  evidence  was  then  rather  more 
on  the  surface  than  he  had  thought.  "  The  fox  doesn't 
trust  me !  "  thought  the  youth.    "  He  shall !  " 

With  punctilious  accuracy  he  recounted  the  ramblings 
of  the  dying  man's  brain ;  in  his  narrative  the  red  'un  ap- 
peared but  as  one  among  many,  and  disappeared  again 
with  no  special  importance  attaching  to  him.  A  scuffle  of 
poachers  in  rivalry  was  the  inference  that  remained  on 
the  conclusion  of  his  evidence. 

Great  was  Tristram's  astonishment,  on  quitting  the 
box,  to  hear  MacAllistcr  called  to  take  his  place.  As 
a  voluntary  witness  unsummoned  by  the  police,  he  had 
his  credentials ;  moreover,  he  spoke  the  truth.  Oh ! 
shrewd  brain  under  the  red  head !  Tristram  had  to  listen 
and  admire.  His  suppression  of  the  truth  came  out.  Eyes 
turned  to  look  at  him.  Why,  by  the  turn  of  a  lie  on  his 
tongue  MacAllister  could  have  brought  the  implication 
round  to  him !  Hark  to  the  court  questioning,  and  the 
cool-headed  replies. 

"  Can  you  account  for  the  deceased  attacking  you?  " 

"«He  had  a  grudge  against  me." 

The  witness  was  asked  to  name  it. 

"  It  had  been  put  into  his  head  that  I  had  ruined  his 
daughter."  Shrewd  punishment  that,  to  certain  ears ; 
there  sat  Lizzie,  there  Tristram ;  at  him  eyes  set  thick  and 
fast,  he  felt  them  on  him  like  a  swarm  of  stings.  The 
thought  came  to  succour  him,  "  If  I  have  brought  this  on 
her,  it  gives  ne  the  more  right  to  make  amends."  The 
rebel  in  him  reared  up  its  head.  Meantime  question  comes 
again  ;  the  witness  is  ready  and  waiting  for  it. 

"  Was  there  any  truth  in  that  suggestion  ?  " 

"A  lie!"  said  MacAllister,  and  let  his  eye  travel  to 
Tristram. 

The  court  buzzed. 

Tristram  heard  himself  recalled.    He  stood  up  and  took 


PROTECTION    TO    AN    ENEMY       365 

his  punishment ;  even  the  verbal  truth  of  his  testimony 
was  doubted  in  the  face  of  new  facts.  The  cap  episode 
damned  him  utterly.  His  evidence  was  censured ;  he  es- 
caped with  that.  MacAllister's  unscrupulous  honesty 
had  won  the  day.  His  committal  for  manslaughter  there- 
after before  the  magistrate  was  merely  a  formal  proceed- 
ing ;  the  same  evening  saw  him  released  on  his  own  recog- 
nisances ;  and  a  week  later  he  was  free  even  from  the 
mild  shadow  of  a  hold  that  the  law  had  kept  on  him. 

Meeting  Tristram  on  a  later  day  the  bailiff  cocked  a 
sharp  eye  on  him. 

"  YOU  TRIED  TO  SAVE  MY  LIFE  ONCE,  MASTER  GAVNEY  !  " 

he  said,  and  passed. 

Tristram  for  all  his  honest  hatred  of  the  man  could 
have  shaken  hands  with  him  for  that ;  the  condescension 
to  such  a  move  would  have  been  on  MacAllister's  side. 
He  was  incapable  of  it.  Give  him  his  triumph,  it  is  one 
honestly  earned.    With  this  he  passes  out  of  history. 


CHAPTER   XXXII 


LOVE   AND    WAR 


\J\70RD  of  these  things  flew  abroad.  It  came  to  Lady 
Petwyn,  who  greeted  it,  crowing  triumphantly 
over  the  strokes  publicly  dealt  to  the  idiot  she  adored. 
On  his  own  family  it  fell  with  all  the  bitterness  of  sharp 
disgrace.  Mr.  Gavney  beheld  scandal  pointing  at  his  door 
so  long  as  Tristram  remained  in  the  neighbourhood. 
Further  the  tidings  went,  and  now,  for  the  first  time,  with 
particulars  of  the  whole  scandal,  reached  Raymond's  ears ; 
it  found  him  on  the  very  point  of  returning  for  a  brief 
visit  to  his  home.  The  news  struck  him  a  double  blow ; 
and  with  the  typical  injustice  of  the  male,  he  was  quicker 
to  doubt  the  woman  whose  heart  had  opened  its  depth  to 
him,  than  to  believe  in  the  treachery  of  his  friend.  The 
honour  that  exists  among  thieves  is  the  specially  preserved 
virtue  of  the  predatory  sex.  Of  woman,  the  unknown 
quantity,  it  will  believe  things  that  of  its  own  it  rejects. 

Raymond  damned  Tristram  without  prejudice,  regard- 
ing him  merely  as  an  honest  sinner  like  himself.  But 
elsewhere  his  thoughts  ran  black  as  night.  Unbelievable ! 
cried  his  heart  as  base  suspicions  took  shape  ;  and  straight- 
way he  believed  them  all.  To  set  down  here  all  the  mad- 
ness into  which  a  revived  jealousy  temporarily  threw  him, 
were  to  give  too  permanent  a  record  of  thoughts  dishev- 
elled, flying,  clouds  worried  out  of  all  shape  by  the  black 
teeth  of  a  mounting  storm. 

366 


LOVE    AND    WAR  367 

Let  the  reader,  if  he  will,  retrace  for  himself  the  course 
of  Raymond's  inquisition  of  the  past,  and  construct  with 
him  the  forgeries  of  jealousy.  For  though  love  may  be 
abused  or  forgotten,  jealousy  for  the  past  leaps  to  life, 
and  from  the  heart  of  memories  that  had  once  been  sweet, 
tears  food  it  craves  for  and  loathes.  At  the  end  woman's 
honour  had  flown  to  the  winds :  his  friend's  stood  firm. 
Tristram  would  have  been  the  last  to  thank  him  for  the 
compliment  —  thanked  him  surprisingly  little  for  it  when 
it  came  to  the  point. 

All  that  Raymond  heard  of  the  Tramp's  extravagant 
attitudes,  his  almost  published  threat  to  go  to  the  ex- 
tremes of  a  foolish  chivalry,  convinced  him  of  his  friend's 
honesty.  In  spite  of  pique  and  indignation  at  the  trick 
circumstance  had  played  him,  he  conceived,  therefore, 
that  he  had  a  duty  to  perform,  a  sharp  word  of  sense  and 
instruction  to  level  at  his  addle-pated  comrade's  intelli- 
gence before  it  should  be  too  late.  To  him,  as  to  Mac- 
Allister,  the  fitting  of  caps  had  become  a  duty :  for  per- 
cussion-caps they  might  well  have  been  named  in  view  of 
the  explosive  results  which  followed.  The  young  man, 
calling  virtue  and  vice  to  his  aid,  wrote  in  loathing  as 
duty  dictated ;  in  further  loathing  as  temper  whipped  him 
to  comment ;  and  with  a  last  swell  of  loathing  despatched 
the  missive. 

Gloom  was  governing  the  breakfast  hour  at  the  Valley 
House  when  the  distribution  of  the  post  brought  the  letter 
into  Tristram's  hands. 

He  nodded  to  Marcia,  saying  "  from  Raymond,"  as  he 
opened  it.  In  another  moment  she  saw  his  brow  go  black ; 
and  at  the  end  of  his  perusal  a  trembling  hand  make  a  vin- 
dictive crumble  of  the  sheets  it  held.  Hot  fire  was  over 
his  face.  Murmuring  an  excuse,  he  rose  to  leave  the 
room.  Marcia  looked  away.  In  the  culprit's  absence  Mr. 
Gavney  spoke. 


368  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

"  Your  brother  goes  to  London  early  next  week,"  he 
remarked,  giving  the  news  with  the  tone  of  an  order  laid 
down. 

"  Does  he?  "  said  Marcia,  more  interrogatively  than  she 
meant. 

"  He  goes  out  of  this  house,"  said  her  father.  'If  you 
have  influence  with  him,  advise  him." 

"  If  Marcia  has  any  influence  with  him,"  said  Julia, 
"  she  is  a  blessed  exception  to  the  rule.  Don't,  my  dear, 
let  it  turn  your  head." 

"  His,  you  mean,"  said  the  girl,  smiling.  "  Yes,  I  will 
use  my  influence  with  him,  papa,"  she  went  on,  laughing 
over  her  parent's  chair.  ''Shall  it  be  done  like  this?" 
The  display  that  followed  evoked  protest. 

"  It's  no  over-exertion,"  she  said,  setting  him  on  his 
feet  again,  "  influence  never  is  with  me ;  only  be  good- 
tempered  to  him,  papa,  and  I  will  see  what  I  can  do." 

Having,  as  she  would  have  termed  it,  shaken  her  father 
into  a  good  temper,  she  bided  her  time  for  dealing  with  the . 
other  half  of  her  problem.  He  was  missing  for  the  rest  of 
that  day.  Outside  the  village  during  the  forenoon  she 
met  Raymond,  and  finding  him  eager  to  be  in  her  com- 
pany, had  much  to  hear  of  him  fresh  from  sheep-farm- 
ing. She  admired  the  superabundant  signs  of  health  he 
displayed.  His  spirits,  too,  seemed  as  of  old.  Asking  for 
news  of  Tristram  he  let  the  answer  go  unheeded. 

"  It's  you  I  want  to  see  more,  Marcia,"  he  said.  '  I've 
looked  forward  to  it,  I  can't  say  how  much.  You  wouldn't 
believe  me  if  I  did." 

"  Is  it  advice  you've  been  wanting,  then? " 

"  As  an  accompaniment,  yes !  But  it  was  you ;  I  swear 
you  are  the  jolliest  friend  a  fellow  could  have!  Just  to 
hear  you  talk  puts  me  in  a  happy  frame  of  mind.  Now 
you  laugh  !    What  have  I  said  foolish  ?  " 

"  Nothing  yet." 


LOVE    AND    WAR  369 

"You  think  I  will  presently?" 

"  Not  unless  you  begin  to  mope.  You  were  doing  that 
in  the  summer." 

"Oh,  that's  over!  Don't  I  look  good?  Haven't  I 
swallowed  all  your  advice  ?    Now  I  come  back  for  more." 

"  Give  me  a  point  to  start  from,  then !  I'm  brimming 
with  wisdom." 

"  Why  am  I  leaving  England,  tell  me  ?  " 

"  Tired  of  old  faces,  want  fresh  ones,  I  imagine." 

"  Yes,  fresh  ones  are  what  I  like,"  he  said,  looking  at 
hers.     "  One  fresh  face  would  go  a  long  way  with  me." 

"Would  it?"  she  asked,  and  looking  for  slight  chaff, 
saw  the  keen  edge  of  his  meaning.  Without  intending 
anything  she  had  given  him  the  lead  he  wanted. 

"  Will  it  ?  "  he  asked.  "  Don't  say  I  talk  nonsense ! 
I'm  asking  you  for  advice  now." 

"  Fresh  faces  don't  remain  fresh  for  ever,  Ray !  Some 
questions  require  a  look  twenty  years  ahead  before  they 
can  be  answered." 

"  Look  ahead,  Marcia,  and  answer  me !  " 

"  Answers  from  a  long  distance  take  a  long  time  in 
coming,   Raymond." 

"  They  may  take  what  time  they  like,  so  that  they 
come  at  last." 

"  They  may  bring  a  shake  of  the  head.    How  then  ?  " 

"  I  should  say,  then  —  you  didn't  look  far  enough ; 
look  again !  " 

"  I  declare,  Ray,  I  think  you  are  sensible !  " 

"  I  can  swear  I  think  I  am  in  this." 

"  Do  you  know  what  it  is  you  want  ?  " 

"  You  to  love  me,  Marcia !  " 

"  But  I  only  like  you  now." 

"How  much?" 

"  Just  as  much  as  is  comfortable ;  not  one  bit  more. 

"  No  chance  of  it  getting  uncomfortable?" 

2   B 


370  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

"  I  think  we  are  both  too  sensible.    No." 

"  You  think  I'm  not,  then  ?  " 

"  Not  what  ?  " 

"  Uncomfortable." 

"  Not  very." 

"I  am!'''  Raymond  spoke  with  solemn  conviction. 
The  girl's  laughter  flew  out. 

"  Oh,  Ray,"  she  cried,  "  if  you  could  see  your  face  when 
you  say  that !  " 

"Why?" 

"  You  look  so  contented." 

"  Because  I  believe  you  like  me." 

"I've  said  so!" 

"  Love  me,  then,  I  mean." 

"  Oh  no,  I  don't !  except  as  I  say,  comfortably.  That's 
fact,  Ray." 

"  Can't  we  improve  on  it,  put  a  piece  on  day  by  day?  " 

Once  more  Marcia  laughed.  "  Oh,  Ray,  you  are  nice 
about  it !  "  she  cried.  "  You  are  no  trouble  at  all !  I 
could  say  '  yes  '  out  of  mere  gratitude,  if  I  didn't  mean 
no.  Dear  boy,  I've  never  thought  of  it !  I  must  be 
wanted  desperately  before  I  can  begin  to  think.  We  are 
neither  of  us  at  the  stage  to  do  that." 

Raymond  said :  "  I'd  stay  in  England  to  serve  you, 
Marcia :  make  new  plans :  be  a  different  man." 

"  No,  no,"  she  protested,  "  I  like  you  as  you  are." 

"  But  like  isn't  love,  you  say  ?  So  before  you'll  love 
me  I  must  alter." 

"  Don't  begin  to  be  clever,  Raymond,  or  I  can't  answer 
you,"  said  Marcia,  entangled  by  the  argument. 

Raymond  replied :  "  I'll  be  a  fool,  Marcia,  if  you'll  only 
give  me  the  answer  I  want." 

"  But  I  haven't  it  in  me,  Ray." 

Looking,  he  found  her  eyes  very  cordial  and  friendly. 
"  Will  you  ever?"  they  gave  him  encouragement  to  say. 


LOVE    AND    WAR  371 

"  There's  a  question  that  takes  time  to  answer,"  she 
told  him. 

"  Oh,  take  time,  if  you  must ! "  he  conceded,  and 
made  generous  allowance.  "  Will  you  tell  me  to- 
morrow ?  " 

"  What  ?  will  to-morrow  have  altered  you  so  much,  do 
you  think  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  a  little  if  I  have  that  to  look  forward  to ; 
and  you  a  little,  Marcia ;  add  the  two  up,  we  might 
make  it  into  much.  Enough  for  you  to  begin  an  answer 
on. 

"  Begin  an  answer !  Now  you  are  trying  to  be  crafty. 
How  can  I  begin  an  answer  of  which  I  don't  know  the 
end?" 

Raymond  said  with  humble  seriousness :  "  You  might 
have  the  end  in  your  own  mind ;  but  you  needn't  tell  it 
me  until  you  think  I  deserve  it." 

Marcia  took  his  hand  and  swung  it  laughing.  "  Oh, 
Raymond,"  she  cried,  "  you  dear  impossible  person,  what 
will  you  be  saying  next?  To-morrow  I'm  to  find  like 
changed  into  love;  and  then  I  am  to  bottle  it  up  till  I 
think  you  deserve  it!  What  repentances  and  changes 
have  you  to  get  through  ?  Aren't  the  debts  all  paid  and 
done  penance  for  ?  " 

"  One  may  think  so,"  he  answered,  "  but  they  have  a 
way  of  cropping  up  again  and  looking  as  if  they  were 
not  paid.  Some  debts  never  leave  quite  a  clean  slate 
behind  them,  however  much  one  may  rub  with  one's 
own  fingers  to  get  rid  of  them.  I  want  another's  hand 
to  polish  me." 

He  held  Marcia's ;  there  was  the  old  moody  strain  in 
his  voice  that  she  knew  and  hoped  to  have  mothered  out 
of  him.  It  brought  her  back  to  the  old  tone  of  hearty 
comradeship,  covering  a  tenderness  for  the  concealed 
malady. 


372  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

"  My  hands  are  always  at  your  service,  Ray,"  she  in- 
formed him. 

"  But  I  want  your  heart,  too,"  was  the  youth's  discon- 
tented cry. 

"  Warm,  you  have  it !  "  she  replied ;  "  but  soft,  I  don't 
believe  is  in  me." 

"  Warm  does  for  me!  "  he  said;  "  I  can  leave  the  soft 
for  babies." 

"  For  babies ;  it's  where  I  come  nearest  it,"  she 
answered.  "  I've  been  hugging  a  little  brown  one  since 
I  saw  you." 

"  Then  I'll  be  one !  "  cried  the  inconsistent  youth,  taking 
fire.  "  Marcia,  I  want  you  —  I  do !  I  want  to  be  made 
a  man  of;  when  I'm  with  you  I  feel  I've  been  far  off  it. 
You  undo  my  pride,  and  make  me  ashamed  of  things : 
things  if  I  had  loved  you  sooner  I'd  never  have  done. 
Looking  at  life  ahead  it  seems  full,  with  you  in  it ;  with 
you  out  of  it,  I  don't  care  where  I  go  to,  or  what  I  do. 
Tell  me  to  stay  in  England,  I'll  stay:  tell  me  to  go,  I'll 
go,  though  I  shall  understand  what  that  means.  Let  me 
only  have  your  wish  for  me  to  work  on,  and  I'll  be  a 
reasonable  contented  Christian.  Keep  your  answer  till 
I've  proved  I'm  worthy  to  have  given  you  the  trouble 
to  think  of  me !  I'll  come  back  for  it  and  take  it,  what- 
ever it  is,  as  that  of  an  honest  and  true  woman,  the 
best  alive,  who  would  rather  hurt  than  wrong  any  man, 
and  hurt  herself  rather  than  not  do  right.  Marcia,  when 
may  I  come  ?  " 

Her  voice  thrilled  slightly  as  she  lifted  breath  to  reply; 
his  words  had  touched  strangely  the  weak  and  the  strong 
places  of  her  character.  She  said :  "  Come  to-morrow, 
Raymond,  or  the  day  after,  or  any  day;  you  will  be  sure 
of  seeing  a  friend.  If  I  can  give  you  any  answer  then, 
I  will." 

She  spoke  from  a  moved,  but  an   untroubled  heart, 


LOVE    AND    WAR  373 

gave  him  her  two  hands,  looked  him  in  the  face  with  all 
the  good-will  in  the  world,  but  for  conscience'  sake  could 
not  say  the  word  she  would  almost  have  liked  then  to 
let  him  hear. 

"To-morrow  ! "  she  said.  " No,  no,  that  will  be  Sunday ! 
the  day  after  will  be  best."  Had  her  voice  sounded  less 
confident  and  free,  Raymond  could  have  discovered  more 
immediate  hope  in  the  prospect.  She  seemed  too  heart- 
whole  for  a  lover's  eye. 

So  they  parted,  from  a  wooing  in  which  much  honest 
speech  and  few  words  of  sentiment  had  been  uttered. 
The  raging  wooer  would  have  affronted  her  taste.  Ray- 
mond, schooled  unconsciously  by  her  friendship,  was 
approved.  The  stride  of  her  free  spirit  was  not  diminished 
because  she  had  listened  to  the  voice  of  a  man  searching 
for  his  mate. 

Marcia  had  claimed  respite  of  one  clear  day.  She  used 
it  honestly  for  the  quiet  searching  of  her  heart,  prepared 
to  find  no  more  than  a  benevolent  vacuum,  unserviceable 
to  the  man  she  would  have  been  honestly  glad  to  satisfy. 
Other  spirits  paid  less  observance  to  the  day  appointed 
for  rest. 

Raymond  had  received  a  peremptory  word  from  Tris- 
tram, naming  time  and  place,  as  though  the  world  and  its 
Sabbath  belonged  to  him.  He  screwed  himself  up  to  get 
over  an  unpleasant  task.  Since  his  return  he  had  heard 
the  full  ins  and  outs  of  his  friend's  madness ;  much  also 
that  he  did  not  credit.  That  Tristram  had  by  putting 
off  blame  from  himself  to  MacAllister  hoodwinked  the 
girl's  father,  and  then,  with  an  evil  conscience  over  the 
catastrophe  that  ensued,  had  striven  to  repair  his  fault 
and  shield  the  man  he  had  wronged,  was  a  suggestion 
he  refused  to  listen  to.  It  surprised  him  to  find  his  mild 
father  bitter  against  the  youth.  "  He  has  done  irreparable 
harm  to  the  parish,"  was  Mr.  Hannam's  complaint.  "  I 
regard  him  no  longer  as  a  fit  friend  for  my  son." 


374  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

His  son,  nevertheless,  kept  the  appointment  snapped 
at  him  in  a  few  lines  of  Tristram's  handwriting.  The 
friends  met  in  a  quiet  corner  of  the  Hill  Alwyn  covers 
at  the  hour  when  the  parish  was  making  outward  con- 
fession of  its  sins;  other  occupants  of  the  Vicarage  and 
Valley  House  pews  were  left  to  speculate  on  their 
absence. 

Tristram  was  first  on  the  ground;  he  disregarded  the 
hand  his  friend  offered  him. 

"  Come,  come,"  said  Raymond,  "  we'll  not  begin  like 
that!  Aren't  we  friends  still?"  The  offer  once  more 
held  out  was  again  ignored.  Tristram's  eyes  shot  level 
enmity  at  eyes  which  strove  to  be  friendly. 

"  Oh,  very  well !  "  said  Raymond,  and  hardened  his 
face. 

Said  Tristram,  "  Which  of  us  is  to  hear  the  other  first? 
You've  something  to  say,  I  suppose  ?  " 

'Nothing,"  answered  Raymond;  "I  came  at  your 
call." 

"  You've  been  making  a  queer  duty  of  absence,  till 
now !  "  retorted  the  other  with  a  stiff  lip. 

"  And  you've  been  enjoying  elbow-room;  it  seems  you 
haven't  been  in  want  of  me." 

"Not  particularly.  I've  been  fighting  liars!"  said 
Tristram. 

"  Using  their  own  weapons  a  bit?" 

"  Giving  them  full  play ;  yes,  all  I  could  do  while  the 
man  who  should  have  met  and  silenced  them  was  hiding 
himself  comfortably  away." 

"  Name  where  you  accuse!  "  said  Raymond  with  sud- 
den sharp  delivery. 

Tristram  raised  his  voice. 

"  Skulked,  I  say,  put  his  tail  between  his  legs  and  ran ! 
Cared  nothing  what  was  said,  or  who  accused,  so  his 
back  was  out  of  it.    The  man  who  could  be  silent,  then  — 


LOVE    AND    WAR  375 

I  didn't  know  him  till  yesterday,  not  till  yesterday !  —  I 
thought  he  must  be  so  much  a  brute  that  he  had  best 
be  let  go,  that  even  by  lies  it  were  better  to  keep  the 
very  woman  he  betrayed  from  being  named  along  with 
him!  —  yes,  I  looked  about  to  hit  on  some  rank  fox  of 
a  fellow:  thought  I'd  found  him,  though  I  never  named 
him  —  and  got  punished  for  looking  too  low  among  the 
scum  of  things  instead  of  where  I  ought,  at  the  man  I 
once  called  my  friend."  A  trembling  white  fit  of  rage 
went  over  Tristram  as  he  spoke. 

"  When  you've  done  being  mad,  I'll  speak,"  said 
Raymond. 

"  I  asked  you  to  do  that  first." 

Raymond  was  no  fast  thinker;  he  understood  but  the 
half  of  what  he  heard. 

"  Two  days  ago,"  he  said,  "  I  was  told  of  this  for  the 
first  time.    It  was  on  that  I  wrote." 

Tristram  stared ;  his  enmity  rallied  to  the  retort.  "  Let 
so  much  be,  then !  The  cause  of  all  this  lies  in  some- 
thing of  a  year  ago.  Do  you  pretend  ignorance  of  that 
too?" 

The  sneer  was  obvious.  "  Are  you  expecting  that  I 
shall  tell  you  lies  ?  "  asked  Raymond,  with  wrath  fast 
smouldering  to  a  flame. 

"  As  you  please !  "  Tristram  had  almost  said.  "  That 
you  begin  to  tell  anything  is  the  surprise !  "  was  what  he 
actually  did  say. 

Raymond  discerned  that  Tristram  had  been  through 
fire ;  he  made  allowances,  and  answered :  "  It  was  news 
to  me ;  of  the  actual  event  I  knew  nothing  at  all !  " 

Tristram's  brow  gathered  for  storm.  "  And  at  once 
when  you  know  you  write  insult  of  the  woman  you  have 
wronged !  " 

"  I  told  you  a  plain  truth,"  said  Raymond.  "  Yes, 
perhaps  I  wrote  in  a  temper.    The  wrong  was  all  round. 


376  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

If  not,  where  do  you  come  in?  Don't  speak,  you,  of 
insults !  " 

"  I,"  said  Tristram,  "  have  asked  her  to  marry  me.  Is 
that  insult  ?  " 

"  No,  but  it  implies  something,"  said  the  other.  "  Too 
much  for  me !  " 

"  Yes,  that  I  love  her,  and  would  give  my  life  to  make 
up  for  the  wrong  she  has  been  done !  I  grant  you  have 
the  first  claim.  Will  you  take  it,  having  been  so  back- 
ward ?  I  see  now  for  her  there's  one  man  in  the  whole 
world.     One  —  Ray  !  " 

"  Facts  stand,"  said  Raymond ;  "  you  must  be  mad,  or 
you'd  see  reason.    I  wrote  to  get  you  out  of  that  mess." 

"  It's  a  pity  I  can't  thank  you !  What  you  have  done 
is  to  throw  insults  where  in  all  this  world  you  have  least 
right !  Raymond,  if  —  if  you  would  do  that  —  yes,  marry 
her  —  I'd  call  you  my  friend  again !  " 

"  I   don't  marry "    Raymond  spoke  a  deliberate 

word.     An  astonishing  thing  happened. 

"  Right !  "  he  got  out  through  clenched  teeth,  and  spoke 
no  more.    Madness  must  have  its  way. 

Within  twenty  minutes  Tristram  was  lying  on  his  back 
with  closed  eyes.  A  mere  enemy  might  have  pitied  him 
then  ;  his  friend  had  a  harder  resentment  to  get  through  ; 
forgiveness  came  slow. 

"  Damn  his  obstinacy !  "  muttered  Raymond,  beholding 
him  thus.  '  Why  couldn't  he  have  taken  his  beating  ten 
minutes  ago?  I  hate  pluck  when  it's  so  senseless!  It's 
a  mad  brute  that  won't  know  when  it's  beaten.  He  is 
mad,  I  think !  " 

Physical  pity  for  the  sight  that  confronted  him  moved 
him  at  last ;  he  put  his  hands  under  the  wrecked  youth 
and  lifted  him, making  a  support  for  his  head.  The  feeling 
of  those  slack  limbs  wrung  thorough  commiseration  from 


LOVE    AND    WAR  377 

him ;  a  moan  came  to  tell  him  of  a  stunned  brain,  which 
would  not  consciously  have  blabbed  so  dolorous  a  note. 
Composing  his  burden  to  what  he  trusted  was  comfortable 
repose,  Raymond  ran  to  find  water  for  his  victim,  feeling 
himself  the  most  victimised  of  the  two.  His  hat  was 
fairly  water-tight ;  but  to  carry  it  back  and  not  spill  what 
it  retained  took  time. 

When  he  returned  Tristram  was  sitting  up  with  his 
back  to  a  tree;  dead  pallor  showed  obscurely  through  a 
countenance  whereon  livelier  hues  were  bedded  out  in 
patches  and  streaks. 

The  stricken  object  sat  passively  regarding  Raymond 
as  he  approached. 

"  Come,  you  ass,  drink  this !  "  was  that  grudging 
Samaritan's  remark;  and  the  ass  indifferently  took  it 
and  drank. 

There  was  an  elevation  of  the  nose,  as  the  thing  was 
done,  out  of  keeping  with  the  sullenness  of  defeat.  Ray- 
mond beheld  it  with  no  little  astonishment.  '  Tough !  " 
was  his  grunt  of  mental  admiration.  "  And  a  very  devil 
for  obstinacy!"  To  account  thus  for  him  with  hard 
words,  made  in  Raymond's  mind  the  beginning  of  charity. 
His  kindlier  mood  met  with  no  recognition  ;  that  battered 
visage  wore  a  fine  edge  of  contempt ;  after  one  glance  the 
eves  let  him  alone,  turned  elsewhere  to  be  rid  of  him. 
Raymond  felt  himself  ignored.  His  attitude,  proffering 
the  water  that  Tristram  might  again  refresh  himself  and 
be  clean,  became  servile  under  the  continual  slight  of  his 
studied  inattention. 

Feeling  he  must  say  something,  Raymond  strove  to  be 
generous.  "  Here,  Tramp,  old  chap,  I  say !  do  you  feel 
better,  then?"  was  his  first  effort. 

Tristram  was  mute,  and  began  slowly  to  draw  down 
his  sleeves  over  the  arms  he  had  bared  for  the  encounter. 
Raymond  glanced  from  those  to  his  own  more  formidable 


378  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

display,  and  with  some  shame  of  face  started  to  do  like- 
wise. 

Presently  he  beheld  Tristram  knotting  his  cravat,  still 
with  the  chin-airs  of  a  dandy.  What  did  the  fellow 
mean  ?  He  had  taken  his  whipping  well ;  couldn't  he 
become  sensible? 

Raymond  stood  up,  feeling  the  accusation  of  brute,  as 
the  bigger  and  better  man,  unfairly  thrust  at  him;  he  was 
hungry  at  heart  to  be  generous,  to  make  all  the  amends 
he  could.  Was  there  no  getting  hold  of  the  creature? 
He  stretched  out  his  hand  to  claim  the  final  courtesy,  the 
prize  of  the  stricken  field  —  his  opponent's  hand  ;  yearned 
to  have  hold  of  it,  and  by  a  clasp  say  so  much  that  the 
lips  would  blunder  to  speak. 

"  Give  us  your  fist,  Tramp !  "  he  said,  reaching  down. 
"  We  must  make  this  up  again  somehow.    Come !  " 

Tristram  gave  him  a  level  look,  and  away  again,  and 
entangled  both  hands  in  the  sleeves  of  his  coat.  Actually 
he  had  no  strength  for  hoisting  it  on. 

Raymond's  eye  became  a  little  hardened. 

"  You  won't  shake  hands,  Tristram  ?  " 

"  Rather  not,"  he  replied  in  curt  tone. 

"  But  you've  fought  me ;  you  must !  It's  not 
friend'y!" 

;'  I  didn't  suppose  fighting  was  friendly." 

"If  you  fight  an  equal,  he  has  a  right  to  your  hand 
after  it.     Come  !  " 

"  I'm  not  your  equal,"  said  Tristram. 

As  he  spoke  the  boy  was  rising  to  his  feet  by  the  help  of 
the  tree ;  with  his  coat  dangling  down  one  arm  he  leaned 
toward  the  trunk  for  safety,  looking  very  deadly  the  while. 

Raymond  was  endeavouring  to  deal  generously  with 
an  enemy  who  seemed  bent  on  driving  him  from  one 
ungrateful  attitude  to  another.  The  bad  form  of  the 
thing  cut  him.     "  Sulky  cur!  "  he  could  have  cried.     The 


LOVE    AND    WAR  379 

sneer  that  they  were  not  equals  made  it  one  worse. 
"  Well,  was  it  my  doing?  "  he  cried.  "  You  might  behave 
decently ;  it  was  to  please  you  I  fought.  You  would 
have  it." 

"  Very  well,  and  you've  licked  me.  I'm  much  obliged 
to  you !  " 

"  God !  "  cried  Raymond,  "  was  there  ever  anything 
like  this?  You  take  a  licking  till  you  can't  see,  till  you 
can't  stand !  till  you  are  knocked  out  of  your  senses,  and 
lie  a  mere  log.  Then,  when  you're  up  on  your  feet, 
because  you  can't  have  the  thing  over  again,  you  sulk 
like  a  cad !  " 

Tristram's  body  became  strung  again  with  passion. 
"  Do  you  suppose,"  he  cried,  "  that  as  long  as  I  had  feet 
under  me  I  didn't  wish  I  could  kill  you ;  or  now,  if  I  had 
any  strength  left  in  me,  that  I  wouldn't  wish  to  still  ? 
Yes,  with  my  last  breath !  " 

The  words  struck  Raymond  like  a  bolt.  Rallying,  he 
said :  "  That  sort  of  talk  is  mere  wind.  Why  should  you 
want  to  kill  me  ?  " 

"  Why?  She's  Marcia's  sister,  and  the  man  asks  why! 
It  drives  one  mad !  Yes,  that's  how  I  think  of  her :  I 
love  her!  She  is  like  Marcia:  I  can't  separate  them. 
And  so  brave  I've  seen  her,  —  and  suffering,  —  and  I 
couldn't  help  !  And  all  the  time,  where  were  you  ?  Don't 
think  because  you've  beaten  me  once  that  you've  done 
with  me!    Till  I  die  I'm  her  friend!  " 

Raymond  said  scornfully,  giving  the  word  its  uglier 
meaning,  "  Did  she  choose  you  for  her  protector?" 

"No,"  said  Tristram  softly,  all  at  once;  "she  chose 
you!  —  a  poor  thought,  wasn't  it?" 

"  That's  folly ! "  struck  out  Raymond  doggedly. 
"  You've  turned  your  brain  mad  over  this ;  you've  no 
sense  to  see.  I  can  forgive  you  your  mouthings,  though 
precious  little  of  them  can  I  understand.    There,  I  won't 


380  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

listen  to  you  again !     Give  me  your  hand,  and  hush  all 
this  talk  !    I'll  see  you  home." 

"  Ray,"  said  Tristram,  "  I  used  to  think  you  the  best 
fellow  alive.  I  couldn't  be  prouder  to  know  any  one  than 
to  know  you.  I  thought  to  be  your  friend  was  the  biggest 
piece  of  luck  that  ever  came  my  way.  Well,  that's  over 
now !  Now  I  think  you  so  poor  in  honour  that  I  would 
rather  never  have  a  word  with  you  again  —  never,  unless 
you  do  right  to  that  poor  girl  whose  one  wrong-doing 
was  to  love  you.  Oh,  if  I  could  find  the  right  word  for 
you  now,  I'd  spit  it  in  your  face." 

The  other  crimsoned,  though  with  the  thought  that 
none  but  a  madman,  or  wilfully  blind,  could  use  such 
speech.  "  You  forced  me  to  fight  you,  thinking  that  of 
me  ?  "  he  asked. 

"I  —  I,"  Tristram  stammered ;  then  turning  his  con- 
fusion to  scorn,  "I'm  not  proud  of  having  fought  you !  " 
he  said. 

"  Perhaps  not,  but  fight  me  you  did ;  whatever  you 
thought  of  me  you  brought  yourself  down  to  my  level 
to  do  that ;  you  can't  get  away  honourably  without  pay- 
ing the  price."  He  paused  and  went  on:  "Tramp,  I 
refused  to  think  ill  of  you  —  any  worse,  I  mean,  than  of 
myself,  though  I  was  told  worse,  —  oh  !  had  it  from  those 
who  believed  it  with  a  good  conscience  —  my  own  father 
for  one.  I  say  you  must  give  me  your  hand ;  it  isn't  a 
mere  form.  It's  —  it's  —  give  me  just  this  chance  of 
thinking  you  aren't  quite  mad ;  or  well,  let  it  be  that  it's 
for  the  last  time ;  let  it  mean  as  little  as  you  like !  Tramp, 
/  mean  it ;  and  you  don't  know  what  hard  things  you've 
said  to  me." 

The  younger  man  only  heaved  his  chest,  looking  in- 
tently at  the  other's  face  of  pleading  and  reproach. 

"  Suppose,  Tramp,"  Raymond  went  on,  "  that  I'd  been 
the  one  who  came  off  worst,  that  you'd  whacked  me, 
perhaps  as  I  deserved :  what  then  ?  " 


LOVE    AND    WAR  381 

A  bitter  smile  curled  Tristram's  lips.  "  Maybe  then," 
he  said,  "  I  should  have  killed  you." 

"  I  know  better,"  said  Ray.  "  Before  I'd  asked,  you'd 
have  given  me  your  hand." 

"My  hand?"  Tristram  turned  indifferent  contempt 
on  himself,  "  I  needn't  be  so  scrupulous  with  a  thing 
that  has  served  me  so  ill.    There,  if  you  want  it,  take  it!  " 

The  hand,  after  so  much  dispute,  lay  dead  for  Ray- 
mond to  clasp  —  dead,  dead.  He  held  it  with  more  desire 
than  he  could  name  for  a  returning  pressure  upon  his. 

That  never  came ;  he  let  it  fall. 

"  Now  go ;  get  out !  "  said  Tristram,  bitter  to  the  last. 

"  I'll  see  you  home,"  said  Raymond.  "  Oh,  that  may 
mean  nothing  at  all.  I'd  do  it  for  a  dog ;  you  are  too 
knocked  up  to  go  alone." 

"  Get  out !  "  reiterated  the  implacable  voice.  There 
was  nothing  left  for  Raymond  but  to  go.  He  went,  feel- 
ing, what  was  perhaps  the  truth,  that  a  most  ungenerous 
measure  had  been  dealt  out  to  him.  Once  he  looked  back 
and  saw  Tristram  leaning  his  head  against  the  tree;  his 
arms  were  up ;  his  body  strained  as  though  violent  sick- 
ness had  come  upon  him. 

When  Raymond  reached  home,  he  mounted  to  his 
room  and  looked  furtively  in  the  glass.  "  Oh,  damn  !  " 
he  cried,  transfixed  by  what  he  saw.  Scarcely  a  trace 
of  the  conflict  marked  his  face.  He  felt  himself  a  very 
hound.  Tristram's  best  had  never  got  home  with  any 
weight  behind  the  long  reach  of  his  arm.  The  very 
reverse  of  what  he  intended,  —  therein  lay  Tristram's 
master-stroke,  the  moral  and  the  summing  up  of  the 
whole  battle. 

Raymond  Hannam's  self-respect  lay,  if  one  may  make 
use  of  so  shadowy  a  paradox,  shattered  at  a  blow.  The 
negative  was  stronger  than  any  positive  Tristram  could 
have  devised. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

FORTUNE    SHOWS    A    BLACK    FACE 

"VTATURE  had  given  to  Tristram  a  comely  counte- 
nance,  making  him  a  presentable  and  likeable  object 
to  his  fellow-men.  "  Your  Greek  bronze,"  had  been 
Lady  Tetheridge's  description  of  him  to  the  Hill  Alwyn 
dame :  a  phrase  intended  to  flatter  the  ears  of  one  who 
over  all  the  youth's  good  qualities  made  great  show  of 
proprietary  rights.  But  there  are  bronzes  and  bronzes ; 
it  was  no  Phoebus  Apollo  that  his  features  took  after. 
Faun  and  Hermes  rolled  into  one  give  a  better  vision  of 
his  style ;  or  were  one  to  emulate  the  exactness  of  a  com- 
pass indicating  that  the  wind's  way  lies  north-north  by 
west,  Faun  should  be  named  twice  to  once  for  the  light- 
heeled  messenger  of  Zeus. 

No  sleeping  Faun,  let  it  be  understood,  but  one  ready 
for  the  dance  up  to  the  very  roots  of  his  hair ;  a  sight 
of  his  eyes  only  would  tell  you  of  blood  briskly  at  the 
tramp.  His  lips  were  typical  of  his  nature ;  they  fought, 
upper  with  under,  met  only  to  part  again,  and  played 
quickly  at  moments  in  keeping  with  divers  senses ;  when 
the  eye  was  alert,  they  breathed  ardour  and  surprise ; 
when  the  ear,  they  opened  and  became  a  cavity,  indicative 
of  sound.  Movement  was  the  controlling  genius  of  the 
whole  face ;  a  momentary  arrest  of  thought  gave  it  the 
pause  of  a  thing  aimed,  or  of  a  bird  suddenly  checked  in 
flight.     His  sister,  catching  him  asleep  once,  had  dis- 

382 


FORTUNE'S    BLACK    FACE  383 

covered  a  different  person ;  bringing  her  mother  to  see, 
they  were  met  by  the  full  open  eyes  of  a  light  sleeper 
awakened,  one  not  easy  to  catch. 

For  the  rest  of  this  chapter,  the  face  one  has  here  tried 
to  make  visible  has  to  be  conjured  away;  a  very  different 
one  takes  its  place :  a  temporary  affair  not  needing  to  be 
described,  but  a  portent  while  it  lasted,  destined  as  it 
went  the  rounds  to  startle  conjecturing  minds,  give  a 
little  pain  to  a  few  tender  hearts,  and  mischievous  delight 
to  a  certain  tough  one. 

Tristram's  place  at  home  was  empty  during  the  rest  of 
Sunday's  meals.  Though  Mr.  Gavney  wondered  fret- 
fully what  fresh  piece  of  indiscipline  the  day  was  to  bring 
forth,  Marcia's  peaceable  explanation  seemed  probable. 
"  Raymond  was  not  at  church,  either,"  she  said.  "  It  is 
long*  since  they  have  met ;  no  doubt  they  are  off  together 
for  the  day."  She  wondered  what  confidences  Tristram 
was  receiving  from  his  friend,  but  soon  corrected  the 
fancy,  preferring  to  think  of  Raymond  as  one  who  un- 
burdened seldom  to  others,  and  in  this  case  to  none. 

Late  at  night,  on  her  way  up  to  bed,  she  thought  of 
looking  into  the  Tramp's  room ;  at  times  he  had  quiet 
ways  of  returning.  She  knocked  lightly  and  entered ; 
the  room  was  dark ;  Tristram's  voice  replied  to  her  call, 
apparently  he  was  already  in  bed. 

Marcia  had  learned  that  the  best  way  to  news  of  her 
brother's  performances  was  not  to  ask  questions.  She 
sat  down  against  his  knees  and  told  him  her  own  small 
doings  of  the  day.  She  got  little  from  him  in  reply. 
He  confessed  at  last  to  being  sleepy ;  his  tone  did  not 
make  her  believe  it.  Going  out  she  was  struck  instead 
with  the  conviction  that  he  was  ill.  Over  ailments  he 
had  an  indomitable  pride  and  secrecy,  hating  to  be 
nursed.  To  get  proof  for  herself  Marcia  returned  with  a 
light.      She  turned   him  over ;   would   look  at  him,   she 


384  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

insisted ;  only  the  sight  of  his  tongue  would  satisfy  her. 
'I  warn  you,"  he  said;  "you'll  drop  the  candle!  I've 
had  an " 

She  almost  did  when  he  sat  up. 

'  Tris,  you've  been  fighting !  "  was  her  cry. 

He  nodded  doggedly  to  the  correctness  of  the  sup- 
position. 

"  All  I  knew  how  !  " 

"  Oh !  "  went  Marcia  in  a  low  breath.  The  actual  en- 
quiry she  longed  to  make  died  on  her  tongue ;  she  asked 
him  instead,  "  Are  you  hurt  much  ?  " 

"  As  much  as  you  see !  "  he  answered  shortly,  and  re- 
fusing to  have  anything  done  for  him,  lay  down  again, 
by  silence  inviting  her  to  leave  him. 

But  first  she  wished  to  know,  was  he  not  ill  as  well  as 
hurt?  '  If  I  don't  eat  a  good  breakfast  to-morrow,"  he 
answered,  "  you  may  begin  doctoring  me."  And  the 
promise  was  hearty  enough  to  give  ease  to  her  mind. 

Preparing  to  go,  she  enquired,  "  Were  you  not  with 
Raymond  any  of  the  time  ?  " 

"  Some,"  he  murmured. 

She  left  him  on  that,  and  passed  to  her  own  room  and 
a  sleepless  night. 

On  the  morning  of  the  next  day  the  pageant  of  the 
woful  countenance  started  on  its  rounds ;  its  bearer 
carried  a  high  head,  answering  only  such  questions  as  he 
chose. 

Mr.  Gavney,  ready  with  enquiries  as  to  his  yesterday's 
absence,  broke  off  abruptly  to  exclaim :  — 

"  Good  heavens !  you  can't  go  to  London  with  a  face 
like  that !  " 

'  I  can't !  "  said  Tristram,  with  demure  satisfaction. 
He  had  not  thought  of  that  before,  though  certain  trunks 
had  stood  packed  for  the  last  three  weeks,  waiting  on  his 
pleasure  to  move. 


FORTUNE'S    BLACK    FACE  385 

His  father's  request  to  him  to  absent  himself  from  the 
family  board  till  he  had  recovered  the  looks  of  a  gentle- 
man, led  him  to  enquire  whether  those  same  looks  were 
compatible  with  trade :  —  was  he  to  come  to  Sawditch  as 
usual  ? 

In  that  direction  also  he  was  to  consider  himself  crim- 
inally incapacitated,  and  to  take  holiday  in  disgrace.  Mr. 
Gavney  refrained  from  direct  investigation  into  the  spec- 
tacle before  him ;  but  his  mind  registered  a  dread  that 
he  might  yet  have  to  hear  of  his  son  as  a  drunkard, 
a  lover  of  taverns  and  low  company.  For  that  reason 
he  curtly  bade  Tristram  keep  out  of  his  mother's 
sight. 

The  youth  dutifully  avoided  her  room. 

When  from  a  window  she  saw  him  first,  he  did  his  best 
to  soothe  her  lamentations,  by  crying  up  that  he  had  had  a 
fall.  Strictly  true.  To  have  said  several  would  have  been 
still  nearer  the  mark ;  and  all  on  his  back,  he  might  have 
added  to  make  bewilderment  perfect. 

Marcia  coming  upon  him  in  the  light  of  day,  ran  out  of 
his  company  in  strange  fashion,  as  though  she  too  partook 
of  the  general  disgust. 

Recalling  their  interview  the  night  before,  Tristram 
was  at  a  loss  to  account  for  the  change,  till,  coming  on 
her  again,  he  detected  tragic  lights  and  stains  about  eyes 
which  ordinarily  made  little  show  of  emotion. 

Miss  Julia  Gavney  sent  unsolicited  fomentations  to  his 
room  with  hourly  regularity  ;  this  was  her  way  of  indi- 
cating that  he  was  a  sight  unfit  to  be  abroad,  and  the  place 
therefore  in  which  he  ought  to  stay. 

Indeed  Tristram  was  not  anxious  to  meet  the  world 
even  of  his  own  intimates ;  and  for  some  days  while  his 
spirits  were  recovering  he  surrendered  his  rides  rather 
than  make  a  gratuitous  display  of  himself  before  Lady 
Petwyn  under  present  conditions.  Nevertheless,  when 
a  c 


386  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

summons  came  for  him,  pride  stood  uppermost,  and  he 
disdained  to  shirk  the  encounter  of  her  remarks. 

At  the  first  shock  of  him  her  eyebrows  went  up.  "Well, 
you  look  handsome,  I  must  say !  "  was  her  immediate 
greeting.  Peering  sharply  to  get  at  the  meaning  of  the 
damage  done  him,  she  detected  human  agency. 

"  So  that's  the  moral,  is  it  ?  "  she  nodded,  assuming  that 
the  matter  stood  explained. 

"  A  moral  certainty,  you  may  call  it,"  he  answered,  "  if 
you  mean  that  I've  got  a  bruised  head.  Accidents  will 
happen." 

"  And  some  take  two  to  bring  them  about,"  she  grunted, 
adding :  "  I  know  a  double  event  when  I  see  one  side  of 
it.  You  haven't,  I  suppose,  been  brow-beating  yourself 
in  the  witness-box?  No!  there's  another  half  of  you 
about  somewhere.  What  I  want  to  know  is  which  looks 
the  better  one  ?  " 

Her  play  of  tongue  made  it  easier  for  Tristram  to  be 
merry  over  the  traces  of  his  punishment.  "  If  it's  evidence 
you  are  after,"  said  he,  "  I  think  I'm  the  best  witness. 
Oh,  yes;  the  better  half's  here  for  you  to  stare  at.  You 
sent  word  you  wanted  to  see  me,  and  for  once  I'm  worth 
looking  at ;  that's  the  advantage  of  having  a  thin  skin ; 
you'll  not  find  my  match  anywhere." 

'  But  you've  brought  me  the  box  where  it  struck,"  she 
retorted,  holding  him  with  a  shrewd  eye. 

'I'm  sure  you  flatter  me,"  he  answered:  "the  box 
lasts  after  the  match  that  struck  on  it  is  done  for;  here 
am  I,  at  all  events,  alive,  you  see;  I  do  claim  to  be 
that !  " 

"So  that's  a  thing  to  boast  of,  is  it?"  she  enquired; 
"  and  MacAllister  hasn't,  at  present,  got  another  justifi- 
able homicide  on  his  conscience?  I  must  have  a  look  at 
him." 

1  Then  you'll  be  on  the  wrong  scent,"  said  Tristram, 


FORTUNE'S    BLACK    FACE  387 

"  though  you'll  find  a  fox.  For  his  kind  I've  learned  to 
love  him,  and  wouldn't  have  him  shot  for  the  world." 

He  told  of  MacAllister's  passing  remark  at  their  last 
meeting,  and  showed  a  new  respect  for  him  amounting 
almost  to  enthusiasm. 

"  Then,  you  haven't  been  fighting  him  ?  "  questioned 
the  lady,  preparing  to  speculate  afresh. 

Tristram  assured  her  with  inimitable  coxcombry  that 
he  had  let  the  red  rascal  off.  "  I've  realised,"  said  he, 
"that  a  man  can't  help  the  colour  of  his  hair;  it  has 
taught  me  to  be  charitable." 

Lady  Petwyn  saw  that  he  was  talking  her  off  the  track. 
"Then,  you  mean  I'm  not  to  know?"  she  enquired 
bluntly. 

"  Oh,  you  are  welcome  to,  if  you  can  find  out,"  he 
answered.  "  But  really,  if  you  meet  a  friend  sober  in  the 
morning  with  the  marks  of  dissipation  on  him,  you  don't 
immediately  ask  him  what  ditch  he  lay  in  the  night  before, 
do  you  ?  " 

"  It's  the  ditches  of  your  sobriety  I'm  anxious  to  find 
out,"  she  retorted.  "  They  are  the  exception.  You 
have  spasms  of  common-sense  which  make  you  danger- 
ous, and  hold  you  from  the  wisdom  which  awaits  the 
fool  who  persists  in  his  folly.  As  for  your  dissipations, 
I  have  but  to  sniff  the  wind,  and  open  my  ears,  and  there 
they  are !  " 

"  Sniff  the  wind  and  open  your  ears,  by  all  means ; 
and  then  call  this  an  attack  of  common-sense,  if  you 
don't  find  the  solution."  He  indicated  his  bruised 
countenance. 

"  I  declare,"  cried  the  lady,  with  a  quaint  air  of  con- 
viction, "  I  believe  you've  been  fighting  your  own 
father !  " 

Tristram's  laughter  pealed ;  henceforth  he  had  her  at 
arm's  length.     Up  and  down  she  might  beat  the  bush ; 


388  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

when  she  had  him  most  cornered,  ripples  broke  over  his 
face,  and  he  exploded  once  more.  "  There,  there,"  he 
protested,  "  don't  spoil  a  good  explanation !  "  and  would 
have  it  that  it  was  so. 

"  I  tell  you  what !  "  he  declared,  "  my  father's  a  real 
bruiser;  he  beats  me  to  make  me  become  a  Londoner; 
and  now  I'm  so  bruised  I  can't  go!  " 

Lady  Petwyn  heard  then,  for  the  first  time,  how  closely 
London  was  threatening  him.  She  halted  him  abruptly 
to  say,  "  Do  you  want  money?"  He  could  have  had  a 
hundred  pounds  on  the  spot  from  her  just  then,  if  he 
would  have  consented  to  play  her  game.  She  had  by  no 
means  relinquished  her  schemes  to  capture  him,  and  saw 
her  easiest  way  to  them  in  a  breach  between  him  and  those 
having  natural  authority  over  him. 

Instead  of  securing  him,  however,  the  calculating  dame 
beheld  one  of  those  spasms  of  common-sense,  of  which 
she  had  accused  him,  and  had  to  lay  by  her  offer  as  a  bait 
for  an  hour  when  he  should  be  less  wise.  So  it  was  that 
at  a  later  day  signs  of  a  questionable  affluence  were  to 
sink  alarm  into  the  paternal  breast,  making  it  appear 
that,  however  Tristram's  feet  might  be  directed  for 
him,  he  had  the  faculty  for  shaping  the  course  into  a 
road  for  ruin. 

But  the  shrewdest  questions  on  the  face  of  events  were 
not  to  Tristram ;  in  silence  they  rose ;  and  were  answered. 
Strange  to  Marcia,at  first,  and  then  less  strange  as  thought 
went  over  the  worn  ground  once  more,  was  the  fact  that 
no  hour  of  the  first  day  that  offered  had  brought  Ray- 
mond to  gather  the  possible  sweetness  of  her  second 
thoughts.  An  early  hour  of  the  day  following  saw  her 
setting  forth  defiant  on  an  interdicted  road,  and  at  the 
end  of  it  holding  out  motherly  arms  for  a  much  clothed 
dormouse  to  be  put  in  them.  She  nursed  it  with  unques- 
tioning tenderness,  and  thereafter  went  back  to  her  daily 
round  of  occupations  with  a  serene  brow. 


FORTUNE'S    BLACK    FACE  389 

Raymond's  face,  when  at  last  they  met,  showed  an 
anxious  consciousness,  a  covert  enquiry.  Her  bright 
welcome  of  him  seemed  to  give  relief  to  a  mind  ill  at  ease. 
But  when,  rushing  to  his  point  forthwith,  he  asked, 
"  Have  you  an  answer  for  me  now,  Marcia  ?  "  she  became 
unlike  herself,  and  fenced  the  question. 

"  Am  I  to  believe  that  you  want  what  you  come  so 
late  for?"  she  enquired. 

His  excuse  was  a  little  too  subtle  to  approve  itself  to 
her  ears.  He  feared,  he  told  her,  to  come  on  uncertainty, 
and  had  schooled  himself  to  wait;  she  had  asked  for 
time ;  he  had  given  her  all  he  could. 

"  It  was  not  like  you,"  she  answered,  "  but  I  suppose  I 
must  say  thank  you ;  though  it's  a  day  lost." 

Her  eyes  were  grave ;  "  a  day  lost "  had  not  the 
meaning  a  smile  could  have  given  to  the  phrase.  In 
doubt  as  to  what  it  might  foreshadow,  he  was  in  haste 
to  plead. 

"  I  know  this  of  you,"  he  said.  "  If  you  were  for  me 
yesterday,  you  are  not  against  me  to-day." 

"  Dear  Ray,"  said  the  girl,  and  gave  him  her  hands, 
"  I  am  always  for  you,  never  against  you ;  be  sure  of 
that !  " 

Her  words  might  have  seemed  to  hold  encouragement 
for  him,  but  her  tone  implied  a  difference.  Though  her 
eyes  were  bending  kind  looks  upon  him,  they  seemed  to 
withhold  the  promise  he  sought  to  find  in  them. 

A  fear  caused  him  to  say  suddenly,  "If  you  had  heard 
anything  against  me,  you  would  tell  me,  Marcia?  " 

"  I  would,"  she  answered.  "  I  have  heard  nothing, 
Ray." 

So  quiet  an  answer,  without  surprise,  given  in  response 
to  a  question  that  should  surely  have  startled  protest, 
failed  to  reassure  him. 

Her  hands  were  still  lying  in  his :  "  Dear  friend,"  she 


390  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

murmured  in  a  low  breath,  and  turned  bright  eyes  to 
him,  "  believe  indeed  that  I  care  for  you !  "  Her  full 
aim  seemed  to  be  to  convince  him  that  her  good-will  to 
him  was  unchangeable.  But  for  a  young  man  striving 
to  win  first  place  in  a  woman's  regards,  so  general  a 
cordiality  was  beside  the  point.  He  intimated  as  much 
at  last,  saying: 

"  I  want  to  know  whether  you  mean  ever  to  care  for 
me  more  than  you  do  now  ?  " 

For  a  moment  she  startled  his  hopes  surprisingly  by 
replying,  "  I  mean  to ;  yes !  Let  it  begin  to-day.  You 
must  do  your  part,  Ray.  It  shan't  be  my  fault  if  my 
liking  for  you  stands  still." 

Her  words  quickened  his  thoughts.  A  little  fleet  foot- 
ing, a  breath  of  the  outer  world,  —  they  wanted  that  to 
bring  them  together;  such  conditions  had  been  their 
happiest  auspices  hitherto. 

"Will  you  come  out?"  he  said.  "Yes,  for  a  run! 
never  mind  what  the  weather  is.  I  have  a  thousand  things 
I  want  to  say ;  and  sitting-still  ties  my  tongue.  A  walk, 
Marcia ;  perhaps  a  last  one  before  I  leave  England,  —  if 
I  go."  His  looks  were  keen  on  her  when  he  said  that. 
"  You  won't  refuse ;  say  you'll  come  ?  " 

Marcia  seemed  to  be  consulting  the  sky;  she  looked 
long  through  the  window  before  she  turned  to  give  him 
his  answer.  "  I'll  come,  Raymond,"  she  said  finally ;  and 
in  a  couple  of  minutes  she  was  ready. 

Outside  they  found  themselves  under  a  grey  headlong 
sky,  in  a  world  filled  with  a  thin  flight  of  leaves  and  the 
cawing  of  rooks.  Gusty  autumn  had  taken  an  early  hold 
of  the  year,  unsettling  the  woods  even  before  October 
came.  Slanting  over  their  shaken  tops  went  scuds  of 
rain  ;  here  and  there  down  the  valley  ran  a  furrow  of 
light ;  to  the  west  a  watery  weather-gleam  filmed  over  the 
ridge  of  Randogger. 


FORTUNE'S    BLACK    FACE  391 

As  they  set  out  together  her  eyes  were  friendly,  meet- 
ing his  ;-they  swung  along  side  by  side  like  well-contented 
comrades ;  any  one  who  met  them  then  might  have  had 
pleasant  thoughts  at  sight  of  so  well  matched  a  pair. 
Tristram  saw  them  go :  Marcia  in  the  company  of  the 
friend  he  had  cast  off.  Was  he  bound  in  honour  to  be 
silent  if  Raymond  dared  so  to  presume? 

Marcia  chose  the  first  turn  of  the  way,  not  lending  an 
eye  to  the  clouds.  "  I'm  quite  prepared  to  get  showered 
on !  "  she  said,  and  handed  to  Raymond  a  small  bundle 
for  carrying.  "  I  have  an  errand  I  want  to  do  on  the 
way,"  she  explained,  "it  won't  take  a  minute;  if  you 
like  you  can  drop  me."  She  spoke  on,  of  common-place 
subjects,  giving  no  sign  of  the  strange  hunger  she  was 
beginning  to  feel  for  the  heart  she  intended  that  day  to 
let  go ;  nor  did  anything  in  her  face  tell  Raymond  that, 
before  many  hours  were  over,  he  would  have  to  abandon 
hope  of  her. 

On  the  evening  of  that  same  day,  the  Tramp  ran  over 
to  see  Lizzie.  In  a  few  days  she  would  be  giving  up 
her  home  to  become  part-tenant  of  a  cottage  further  along 
Ran  dogger  Edge.  Having  gone  through  so  much  fire, 
she  was  not  one  to  hide  her  face,  even  to  secure  a  better 
standing  elsewhere.  The  employment  found  for  her  at 
Hill  Alwyn  was,  moreover,  a  reason  for  her  staying  in 
the  neighbourhood.  So  the  morals  of  Little  Alwyn  were 
still  to  be  disturbed  by  her  unscrupulous  presence ;  and 
the  clerical  edict  was  taking  effect  without  securing  its 
end. 

His  few  days  of  seclusion  had  made  of  Tristram  a 
more  presentable  object,  and  he  thought  to  escape  Liz- 
zie's scrutiny  if  he  went  near  dusk  to  see  if  she  needed 
his  help.  In  any  case  she  should  not  be  left  to  feel 
friendless  and  deserted  when  the  trial  of  change  was 
hard  upon  her. 


392  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

Amid  all  the  upset  of  a  dismantled  home,  Lizzie  was 
pleased  to  see  him,  and  grateful  for  his  coming.  She 
eyed  him,  saying,  "  I  heard  you'd  been  hurt,"  but  asked 
nothing.  She  added,  "  Miss  Marcia's  been  here  to-day," 
and  saw  him  start  and  change  colour. 

"Alone?"  he  asked,  unable  to  restrain  the  ques- 
tion. 

It  was  Lizzie's  turn  then  to  be  suddenly  sensitive;  the 
blood  rushed  to  her  face  as  she  affirmed  that  it  was  alone 
her  visitor  had  come.  Her  thought  was  of  a  day  when 
she  had  seen  Marcia  not  alone ;  more  recent  sight  had 
confirmed  the  memory.  Two  had  approached  through 
the  upper  wood;  only  one  had  descended  to  her  door. 
So  their  thoughts  flew  abreast  in  the  dark ;  but  Tristram, 
with  the  home  interdict  suddenly  in  mind,  misunderstood 
her  face. 

"Oh,  Lizzie!"  he  cried,  distressed;  "could  you  think 
I  meant  anything  so  brutal  ?  No :  she  had  some  one 
with  her  when  she  started ;  that  was  all." 

Lizzie's  eyes  were  on  him  then,  under  deep  ambushes 
of  shade.  Confusion  was  upon  them  both ;  over  silence 
as  a  barrier  each  looked  to  see  what  the  other  knew  or 
thought. 

'  No,  no,"  half  whispered  the  girl  in  husky  tones,  "  she 
came  alone ;  she  stayed  a  long  time.  She's  like  you,  Mr. 
Tristram ;  so  good  to  me  she  is,  and  makes  as  if  it  was 
nothing." 

Tristram's  thoughts  mazed  over  Marcia's  coming :  over 
the  increasing  consciousness  of  the  look  Lizzie  directed 
at  him.  Saying  nothing,  they  went  on  reading  each 
other's  eyes;  therein  a  hurried  mute  conference  was  tak- 
ing place.  His  said:  "  I  know,  and  you  know.  I  am 
your  friend,  give  me  the  right  to  speak !  "  Hers  said : 
'  If  you  know,  what  good  to  speak?  It  would  only  be 
more  pain  for  us  both." 


FORTUNE'S    BLACK    FACE  393 

At  that,  "  Oh,  Liz!  "  cried  the  youth,  with  the  longing 
to  speak  too  strong  to  be  repressed. 

But  the  girl  to  whom  friendship  had  been  so  far  kinder 
than  love,  dreaded  now  to  let  friendship  speak. 

"  Don't,  don't !  "  she  cried,  and  hung  back  from  him. 
fearing  what  next  she  might  hear. 

''Nothing,  Liz;  I'll  say  nothing  then!"  he  cried; 
"  only  let  me  help  you  more  than  ever  now  !  "  He  spoke 
of  mon^y,  thinking  she  might  be  in  some  present  em- 
barrassment over  the  expenses  of  her  move.  He  felt  sure 
she  needed  money,  he  said.  "  If  no  one  else  will  help 
you,  let  me !  " 

She  cried  out  suddenly  as  in  pain,  "  Oh,  Mr.  Tristram, 
then  was  it  you  put  that  into  his  head?  You  couldn't 
have  done  crueller.     See  what  you've  forced  me  to  do !  " 

"What?"  he  interrogated,  bewildered. 

''  It's  gone  back  to  him !  "  she  cried,  and  spoke  as 
though  some  unclean  thing  had  touched  her  and  been 
shaken  off.  "  Did  he  think,  after  all,  I  would  take  money 
from  him  so?    Money,  and  not  a  word!  " 

Tristram  began  to  comprehend. 

"  Oh,  yes ;  you've  been  kind,"  she  went  on,  "  I  know ; 
I  love  'e  for  it  all !  But  this,  this ;  oh,  it's  like  a  fresh 
shame  come  to  me !  " 

"  Liz,"  cried  the  youth,  confounded  and  all  abashed. 
"I  just  know,  yes,  I  do  just  guess  what  you  mean!  but 
don't  think  it  was  my  doing !  I  never  breathed  a 
thought  of  such  a  thing:, so  poor,  so  miserable  a  thing 
as  that !  " 

'  But  'twas  your  doing !  "  she  said,  and  fixed  her  eyes 

at  his  face.     "  Yes,  you  did  it,  for  you,  you "  her 

gaze  let  the  thing  be  understood  before  the  words  could 
come  out  —  "  fought  him,"  she  whispered.  "  You  see  I 
know.  You've  hurt  his  pride :  —  and  me :  as  though  I 
had   ever   complained  to   'e !     You   got   this   from   poor 


394  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

father ;  his  notion  was  not  to  let  things  alone.  And  now 
it's  you,  Mr.  Tristram  !  and  that  do  hurt:  that  you  should 
have  made  him  think  to  go  and  do  so !  " 

The  force  of  her  reproach  ended  in  a  wavering  gentle- 
ness ;  she  could  not  hold  out  against  the  pain  her  words 
gave  him.  With  a  sudden  impulse  she  seized  his  hand. 
"  You  must  forgive  me  for  what  I've  been  saying,"  she 
sighed.  "  I  know  what  you  did  was  all  for  me.  But 
there's  only  one  thing  I  wish  now  :  —  that  he  shan't  be 
ever  troubled  by  me,  or  let  me  come  between  him  and  his 
happiness.  What  I  have  I'm  proud  of;  while  that  lives 
I  can  thank  him,  for  all  the  pain !  " 

For  a  strange  end  to  her  words  she  drew  down  his  head 
and  pressed  her  lips  to  his  forehead.  He  heard  her 
weeping  then. 

Tristram  went,  feeling  himself  indeed  an  unprofitable 
meddler  in  the  cause  he  had  wished  to  serve.  For  all  his 
pains  he  had  received  —  what  ?  Forgiveness  for  a  foolish 
fault  generously  done.  Thus  he  went  home  in  a  tractable 
mood,  more  humble  than  he  had  been  for  many  days ; 
even  Mr.  Gavney,  had  he  tackled  him  then,  might  have 
found  him  tractable. 

Late  in  the  dark  end  of  the  evening,  as  he  strolled 
along  the  shadowy  fruit-walks,  a  hand  was  slipped  under 
his  arm.     Marcia's  voice  spoke. 

'  Trampy,"  said  she,  "  your  twin  wants  to  talk  to 
you." 

He  welcomed  the  hand  to  his  side  with  a  gentle  press- 
ure. "  Yes,"  he  answered,  "  yes.  I've  been  hearing  of 
my  twin  to-day ;  and  nothing  but  best  things,  Marcia." 

"  And  I  of  you,"  she  answered  in  graver  speech. 

"  Anything  new  ?  " 

'  Not  to  me:  it  was  hardly  said  for  me  to  understand; 
I  only  guessed  because  I  already  knew.  Dear  Trampy, 
I'm  telling  you  this  because  I  want  you  to  know  that  I 


FORTUNE'S    BLACK    FACE  395 

never  thought  more  of  you  than  I  do  now,  when  I've 
something  to  ask  you,  that  you  mayn't  like." 

"  But  ask  it !  "  ' 

"  It's  to  do  something." 

"  For  whom  ?  " 

"  For  me." 

"  Then  it's  almost  done ;  if  it's  possible." 

"  No,  no,  it's  not  begun !  " 

They  had  stopped,  and  stood  now  face  to  face,  the 
sister  holding  her  brother's  hands. 

'  But  you  can  say  it,  Marcia !  or  are  you  afraid  of 
me?" 

"  Only  that  you  won't  do  it!  "  she  sighed. 

"  It  must  be  a  truly  dreadful  thing,  then,"  said  he, 
trying  to  laugh. 

"  It  is  !   Oh,  for  you,  it  is,  I  know !  " 

He  waited  patiently  to  be  told.  At  last,  out  of  silence 
she  spoke. 

"  Give  it  a  trial :  for  two  years." 

"  You  mean  ?  " 

"  I  mean  just  for  two  years,  Trampy;  what  is  that  in 
a  whole  life?  " 

Her  voice  sounded  like  weeping. 

'  Why  have  you  asked  me  this,  you  of  all  people  ?  "  he 
cried,  perplexed. 

"  Because,"  she  said,  "  to-day,  I  want  to  know  that 
there  is  one  heart  in  all  the  world  that  loves  me.  One 
that  I  can  be  of  use  to ;  just  one." 

"  Wherever  you  go  you  do  good,"  said  her  brother, 
with  fond  belief. 

She  doubted  it,  having  in  her  brain  a  memory  of  angry 
eyes,  and  of  the  reproaches  cast  by  wounded  pride.  Had 
she  thrown,  or  been  thrown  ?  she  hardly  knew. 

"  To-night,  I  wish  to  do  good,"  she  said.  They  stood 
under  a  window  showing  a  soft  light  through  its  blinds. 


396  A    MODERN     ANTAEUS 

Marcia  pointed  :  "  May  I  go  up  and  tell  her  you  will  go?  " 
She  waited,  and  getting  no  answer  said,  "  A  word  from 
von,  Tris,  can  make  us  a  happy  house.'' 

"  Because  I  go!  "  said  the  boy  bitterly. 

"  My  best  happiness  will  wait  till  you  come  back, 
Trampy,"  she  murmured.  '  But  I'll  make  no  more 
plans :  they  bring  too  much  danger  with  them.  Will 
you  give  me  two  years  of  hope?  To-night,  I  feel  that 
it's  all  been  wrung  out  of  me." 

"Has  anything  happened?"  he  asked. 

"Nothing,  nothing!"  she  said  in  dull  tones.  'Give 
me  something  that  shall  happen !  " 

Holding  hands  their  hearts  exchanged  pained  meaning 
through  the  clasp  of  flesh.  Tristram  nodded  to  her  out  of 
deep  thought ;  he  seemed  to  have  hold  of  something  then, 
and  was  moved  to  grant  what  she  asked. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  I'll  go.    Dear  Marcia." 

He  stooped  his  head.  She  lifted  hers.  "  So  that's  said 
and  settled,"  she  affirmed,  and  pressed  a  quiet  kiss  to  his 
face. 

"  You  love  me,  my  twin?  "  she  said. 

"  No  one  better  in  the  world,  I  think,"  he  declared. 
"  Whom  else  would  I  have  said  yes  to?  " 

That  satisfied  her  heart. 

As  they  went  into  the  house:  "By  the  way,  I  have 
a  bit  of  news  for  you,"  she  said.  "  In  a  month  Raymond 
leaves  England.  It  is  to  be  the  Colonies  for  him;  he 
will  do  well  there." 

Her  voice  was  cool ;  even  to  his  ear  no  tremor  was 
in  it. 


CHAPTER   XXXIV 

SHOWS    THAT    THERE    IS    SOMETHING    IN    A     NAME 

TN  the  brief  writing  she  held,  signed  with  Raymond's 
name,  Lizzie's  eyes  looked  on  a  mystery  to  which 
the  words  themselves  gave  no  key.  She  read  in  them 
recognition  of  herself  and  of  her  child ;  yet  could  not 
recognise  him,  her  lover  of  old  days ;  behind  the  known 
writing  the  hand  seemed  strange.  Here,  if  words  told 
anything  true,  was  a  full  acknowledgment  of  the  past,  of 
her  good  faith  to  him,  of  his  own  faithlessness  to  her;  he 
offered  their  child  a  name ;  he  begged  her  pardon,  humbly 
and  fully  accepting  blame ;  yet  he  was  not  a  lover  when 
he  wrote  these  things. 

What  exactly  he  was  she  had  yet  to  learn,  and  extend 
to  him  the  help  which  only  a  heart  proud  of  its  posses- 
sions and  humble  of  its  claims  could  give.  She  was  to 
be  his  succour  when  others  had  brought  him  into  discredit 
with  his  own  conscience,  when  self-respect  was  bitterly 
in  quest  of  a  hand  to  mend  its  wounds.  But  at  present 
she  saw  in  his  letter  only  a  strange  response  to  her  recent 
rejection  of  his  aid,  and  marvelling  why  his  heart  had 
melted  to  her  at  all,  failed  all  the  more  to  understand  why 
it  remained  so  cold. 

Indeed  his  case  was  a  strange  one,  and  one  altogether 
beyond  his  own  wits  to  fathom.  Self-love  had  filled  him 
with  suspicions ;  these  had  now  been  overthrown.  Self- 
love   again    had    driven   him   to   take   refuge    from   one 

397 


398  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

woman's  sweetness  in  another's;  and  Marcia  had  seemed 
to  him  then  a  rose  without  thorns.  Yet  under  the  benign 
graciousness  of  her  aspect  there  had  been  discipline  for 
his  blood :  she  had  given  him  a  vision  of  love  that  was 
neither  animal  nor  sentimental ;  and  having  so  raised  a 
reverent  understanding  in  him  of  what  union  with  a 
woman  might  be,  she  had  let  him  go  almost  with  a  toss 
of  the  hand.  So  at  the  end  of  his  strange  steeple-chase 
with  conscience  an  impenetrable  barrier  rose. 

Marcia  gave  him  a  riddle  hard  to  read;  the  words  she 
delivered  were  straightforward  enough  and  plain,  but 
coming  from  her  what  did  they  mean?  When  as  a  last 
cast  in  the  attempt  to  save  his  pride,  he  made  a  final 
claim  for  her  love,  her  bidding  to  him  was  that  he  should 
seek  another  mate.  "  I  will  love  you  best,"  she  said.  "  the 
day  I  see  you  give  up  thought  of  me."  In  anger  then  he 
made  charges  he  did  not  believe,  accusing  her  of  things 
foreign  to  her  nature ;  till,  in  the  midst  of  his  battery  of 
words,  she  abruptly  quitted  his  side  to  fulfil  the  errand 
she  had  spoken  of. 

Then  for  the  first  time  he  realised  where  he  stood. 
Her  absence  became  revelation  to  him.  With  her  part- 
ing word  she  had  bidden  him  go,  yet  for  an  hour  he 
waited,  though  the  sky  broke  over  him  in  torrents.  He 
understood  at  last  that  until  he  chose  to  come  for  her 
where  he  could  not,  his  dismissal  had  indeed  been  given 
to  him  there ;  she,  sheltering  meanwhile  in  the  cottage 
whose  thin  blue  smoke- curled  up  from  the  woody  hollow 
be^w  him,  had  cast  him  that  test. 

He  went  home  wise,  bent  upon  quitting  Little  Alwyn 
the  same  day.  Tristram's  madness  had  come  to  have  a 
meaning  at  last. 

Of  that  wisdom,  late  in  coming,  others  knew  nothing. 
It  kept  him  close  company,  bringing  him  at  length  to 
entertain  a  different  guest  with  an  aspect  that  had  grown 


SOMETHING    IN    A    NAME  399 

strange.  Understanding  of  those  features  of  truth  which 
he  had  misread,  revealed  his  self-respect  grievously  over- 
thrown ;  so  with  a  hard  purpose  of  self-conquest,  he  was 
brought  at  last  to  sit  down  and  write  to  the  woman  he 
had  wronged. 

Yet  it  was  not  at  the  dictate  of  love  that  the  letter 
was  dispatched.  Lizzie  receiving  it  could  see  that  much. 
None  the  less  did  she  hold  sacred  the  wish  that  it  ex- 
pressed. As  the  father  of  her  child,  obedience  on  such  a 
point  was  due  to  him.  Whatever  he  had  made  her 
endure,  in  one  thing  they  had  a  common  property ;  the 
feeling  of  that  had  been  constantly  with  her  from  the  first 
day  of  its  coming,  standing  between  her  and  shame. 
Now  that  she  had  his  wish,  implying  the  claim  so  long 
ignored,  pride,  if  not  joy,  carried  her  to  look  on  the 
cause.  She  buried  her  face  in  soft  flesh,  murmuring  a 
name ;  and  cried  suddenly  in  answer  to  the  child's  cood- 
ling  notes,  "  You  will  be  proud  of  your  Mammy,  now, 
now! " 

Tristram,  coming  to  say  good-bye,  found  her  with 
strange  eyes.  She  would  not  hear  that  he  was  off  in 
another  day.  "  Wait,"  she  said,  took  up  her  child  in  her 
arms,  and  passed  the  letter  into  his  hands.  With  head 
up  and  wide  eyes  she  caught  at  her  breath,  and  laughed 
as  he  read,  perilously  on  the  brink  of  tears ;  and  when 
she  saw  his  eye  on  the  last  words,  said,  "  Mr.  Tristram, 
you  will  wait  for  that,  won't  you?  I  wouldn't  have  any 
other  god-father  for  my  boy." 

It  seemed  to  Tristram  as  if  autumn's  leaves  were 
leaping  back  on  to  the  trees  and  the  woods  rushing  on  a 
return  to  spring;  almost  he  had  his  hands  on  his  friend 
again  —  a1most.  Lizzie  had  not  to  hear  him  say  the 
words,  "  I  will  come !  "  they  were  there  on  his  face.  She 
was  glad  to  see  him  glad. 

Why  Lizzie  herself  remained  at  all  despondent  then, 


40o  A     MODERN     ANTAEUS 

he  failed  to  see;  his  eye,  with  a  lighter  and  more  hopeful 
glance,  had  missed  what  stared  her  in  the  face:  the  fact 
that  the  man  who  sought  her  pardon  and  recognised  her 
claim,  still  held  hack  from  restoring  either  love  or  pardon 
to  her.  Her  task  was  only  to  satisfy  his  pride;  justice  he 
would  give  her,  generosity  had  not  awakened  in  him  yet ; 
she  was  too  humhle  to  think  that  she  could  ever  regain 
her  place  in  his  heart.  Mother-love  told  her  he  might 
one  day  be  proud  of  his  boy ;  not  ever  of  her,  she 
feared. 

Under  Randogger  Edge,  on  the  borders  of  that  side 
of  the  Hill  Alwyn  estate,  stood  the  district  church  of 
Long  Alwyn,  which  shared  with  more  distant  Hiddenden 
the  ministrations  of  a  resident  curate.  Once  a  month, 
by  aid  sent  over  from  the  mother  parish,  it  received  the 
compliment  of  a  morning  service  with  communion  to 
follow ;  but  the  fixed  hour  for  the  district  to  parade  in 
worship  was  upon  Sunday  afternoons,  when  the  church 
was  accustomed  to  receive  within  its  walls  a  full  rural 
congregation  with  a  sprinkling  of  the  local  fashion. 

The  latter  element  was  chiefly  represented  by  two  long 
rows  of  men  and  maid  servants  from  the  great  House  up 
at  Hill  Alwyn,  an  establishment  too  eaten  up  with  greed 
and  indolence  to  bestir  itself  for  the  earlier  and  more 
orthodox  hour  of  eleven  at  the  parish  church,  to  which 
also  it  was  half  a  mile  further  to  go.  There  and  here 
Lady  Petwyn's  pew  stood  empty ;  and  her  evil  example 
had  spread  laxness  among  those  over  whom  she  ruled. 
Nevertheless,  at  Long  Alwyn,  the  hour  being  convenient, 
a  fair  force  mustered  in  livery  and  plumes,  and  sat  to 
be  admired  by  rustic  eyes. 

On  the  particular  Sunday  to  which  we  are  now  brought, 
it  chanced  that  the  curate  was  away  upon  his  holidays, 
and  Long  Alwyn  received  the  rare  compliment  of  a  visit 


SOMETHING    IN    A    NAME  401 

from  the  vicar.  Beholding  his  approach,  Mrs.  Gummet, 
the  clerk's  wife,  became  a  little  flustered.  The  charge  of 
the  service  had  fallen  upon  her  hands,  and  she  had 
important  matter  to  communicate  to  whoever  came  to 
take  duty. 

Curtseying  to  Mr.  Hannam  in  the  porch,  she  told  first 
how  her  husband  was  laid  up  with  a  bad  knee,  and  hoped 
she  stood  excused,  she  a  woman,  for  her  assumption  of  his 
official  duties. 

The  vicar  heard  her  apologies  and  was  passing  on ;  an- 
other curtsey  and  an  eye  charged  with  meanings  and  a 
moral  caused  him  to  pause. 

'  There's  a  christening,  sir,"  said  Mrs.  Gummet,  and 
gasped  for  indication  that  more  was  to  be  said  on  the  sub- 
ject if  she  should  be  allowed. 

'  Very  well,"  said  Mr.  Hannam.    Still  she  spoke :  — 

'  The  font  is  ready,  sir"  (meaning  that  in  spite  of  high 
reasons  her  submission  to  his  possible  ruling  had  been 
prepared).  "  But  do  you  allow,  sir,  that  it  should  be?  is 
what  I  ask !  A  Sunday  of  all  days !  "  She  threw  up  her 
eyes,  at  a  loss  to  express  her  scandalised  sense  of  the 
matter ;  and,  to  the  interrogation  her  words  drew,  "  It's 
that  girl,  sir!  "  she  exclaimed;  and  thought  then  to  have 
spoken  all. 

She  was  bidden  to  give  the  name,  and  heaved  a  breath. 

"Lizzie  Haycraft,  sir!"  By  his  assenting  look  she 
gathered  that  the  vicar  considered  the  thing  to  be  in  order. 
"  And  my  husband,"  she  went  on  protestingly,  "  when  he 
hears  of  it  last  night  —  for  she  come  down  and  give  him 
the  notice  of  it  beforehand  —  she  did  that  —  he  do  say, 
that  for  the  like  of  her  to  choose  a  Sunday ;  why,  a  Sun- 
day !  he  said,  sir,  —  it  seemed  to  him  it  was  an  ungodly 
thing  to  do,  and  a  scandal !  " 

Mrs.  Gummet  had  been  among  the  foremost  in  the  cam- 
paign against  Lizzie.     '  She's  brazen,  sir,  that's  what  she 

2  D 


402  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

is,"  she  declared  finally.  "  But  she  'aven't  come  yet ;  so 
shame  may  'ave  struck  her  at  last !  What  I'm  to  do,  sir, 
if  she  does,  is  what  I  want  to  be  told." 

"  If  she  comes,"  said  Air.  Hannam,  mindful  that  a 
priest's  duties  were  towards  sinners  as  well  as  saints, 
"  you  mustn't  send  her  back.  It's  a  case  in  which  there 
has  been  too  much  delay  already." 

"And  so  my  husband  told  her  when  she  come!  "  said 
Mrs.  Gummet,  eager  to  let  the  vicar  have  her  agreement 
on  that  point.  "  And  says  he  to  her,  '  Are  you  going  to 
be  churched  now,  Miss?'  (It  made  me  laugh,  sir,  that 
did  !)  '  You  can't  have  that  on  a  Sunday,'  says  he.  '  You 
go  and  have  it  done  quiet  one  day  in  the  week ! '  but  no, 
she  wouldn't." 

"  It  would  have  been  better,"  said  Mr.  Hannam,  but 
would  hear  no  more  from  Mrs.  Gummet  just  then.  '  I 
must  baptise  the  child  if  she  brings  it !  "  On  that  point 
there  could  be  no  discussion. 

Mrs.  Gummet  folded  her  hands  over  the  conclusion  of 
the  matter,  as  who  should  say,  "  I  have  done  my  duty  ;  it 
only  remains  for  the  Powers  to  do  Theirs."  Emphatically 
she  disapproved  of  that  child  being  received  into  that 
church  on  a  Sunday  afternoon,  as  though  it  had  come  re- 
spectably into  life  like  other  children.  Where  were  mor- 
als if  such  things  were  allowed  to  be?  she  wished  to 
know. 

The  vicar  hastened  to  prepare  himself  for  his  duties. 
To  the  credit  of  his  flock  be  it  spoken,  such  cases  as  Liz- 
zie's were  rare;  and  anything  like  her  peculiar  attitude 
was  unheard  of.  He  had  done  his  best  to  get  the  girl  out 
of  the  parish,  but  eviction  had  failed ;  she  was  still  there ; 
it  gave  him  a  hard  struggle  to  be  charitable. 

He  strove  to  conduct  the  public  worship  of  his  parish- 
ioners with  a  detached  mind ;  but  the  pricks  of  the  world 
entered  in  and  disturbed  him.     He  grew  painfully  con- 


SOMETHING    IN    A    NAME  403 

scious  that  the  christening,  to  which  he  was  bound,  would 
leave  his  congregation  profoundly  unedified.  Presently 
scandal  would  be  fluttering  in  that  place  where  no  such 
thing  should  enter,  and  the  miserable  sinners  of  a  whole 
parish  would  be  fixing  their  eyes  upon  one,  wondering  to 
see  her  appear  in  a  church  of  all  unsuitable  places  for 
trespass. 

After  the  second  Lesson  he  turned  westward,  and 
stepped  towards  the  corner  cleared  of  pews,  and  dignified 
by  the  name  of  the  Baptistery.  He  had  proceeded  half- 
way down  the  aisle,  when  he  perceived  Lizzie  rising  from 
a  back  seat  below  the  gallery,  and  saw  Mrs.  Gummet 
gazing  round-eyed  over  the  lid  of  the  font. 

Then  it  became  apparent  to  him  that  scandal  had  in- 
deed entered  the  church  in  spread-eagle  fashion ;  both 
sides  of  it  were  there,  and  neither  had  he  now  the  power 
to  expel.  In  company  with  that  daughter  of  mischief 
stood  another  of  the  same  breed,  no  other  than  Tristram 
Gavney,  wearing  a  most  ungodly  look  of  satisfaction  and 
encouragement  to  the  sinner  beside  him ;  he  seemed  to  be 
wantonly  using  the  church,  in  order  to  clinch  the  rumour 
which  had  connected  their  names. 

The  malevolence  of  the  deed  fetched  a  buffet  at  the  de- 
fenceless man ;  his  priestly  duty  compelled  him  to  go  on. 
The  colour  of  the  thing  grew  lurid  to  his  mind.  What, 
what  would  Mr.  Gavney  say  when  he  heard  of  it?  And 
what  could  he,  friend  and  neighbour,  but  surpliced  in  of- 
fice, do  to  lessen  the  blow  ?  He  had  to  walk  into  the  trap 
open-eyed. 

In  the  westering  congregation  heads  were  bobbing  to 
and  fro.  Grooms  from  Hill  Alwyn  were  upon  the  grin. 
New  light  for  many  showed  amazingly  on  a  situation  of 
some  mystery ;  and  burning  gossip,  suddenly  confirmed, 
stifled  in  the  enforced  silence  of  the  sacred  edifice.  Every- 
body who  knew  anything,  knew  all  now ;  could  swear  that 


404  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

all  along  they  had  known.  But  at  these  supreme  moments 
the  longing  is  to  be  able  to  tell  the  world  so;  and  to  whis- 
per it  to  no  more  than  a  single  pew-full,  was  a  poor,  thin 
way  of  uttering  the  "  I  told  you  so!  "  of  clamorous  scan- 
dal-mongers. 

Mr.  Hannam  guessed  fearfully  that  he  was  about  to 
lend  his  aid  to  an  act  of  outrageous  rebellion :  from  pri- 
vate insubordination  Tristram  was  preparing  to  claim 
recognition  as  a  published  criminal.  And  why,  when 
there  had  always  been  that  obstinate  refusal  to  commit 
himself  to  a  clear  confession?  He  should  be  brought  to  it 
now.  At  least  the  vicar  hoped  to  arm  himself  with  that. 
He  would  make  Tristram  speak:  if  there  on  permissible 
grounds,  he  should  be  brought  to  utter  the  truth. 

Overhead  the  organ  wheezed  flourishes  of  a  proces- 
sional character,  to  accompany  the  footsteps^  of  office. 
Mr,  Hannam,  approaching  his  objective,  beckoned  Tris- 
tram towards  him,  first  by  a  signalling  eyebrow,  then  by 
a  more  imperative  motion  of  the  hand. 

So  summoned,  Tristram  showed  a  courteous  willingness 
to  advance.  The  musical  tunes  up  aloft  covered  a  short 
whispered  conference. 

"  Why  are  you  here  ?  "  enquired  the  vicar,  breathing  his 
anger  low. 

"  Church!  "  said  Tristram,  like  a  good  boy  puzzled  at 
reproof. 

"  Here,  at  the  font  ?  "  The  presence  of  Lizzie  and  her 
child  were  indicated.     '''  Are  you  the  father?" 

"  The  god-iather,"  Tristram  corrected,  and  drew  away. 
He  had  a  wrathful  pleasure  in  the  situation,  the  contre- 
temps that  had  brought  Mr.  Hannam  of  all  people  there. 
Beside  him  Lizzie  stood,  having  a  pained  heart,  genu- 
inely distressed. 

The  organ  stopped  ;  they  stood  like  confronting  parties 
on  a  field  of  war;  Mrs.  Gummet  and  the  vicar  formed  the 
one  side,  Tristram  and  Lizzie  the  other. 


SOMETHING    IN    A    NAME  405 

The  baptismal  service  began  ;  the  prayers  were  read ; 
the  god-parents  stood  and  were  catechised  as  to  their 
creed ;  Tristram  gave  manful  answers  for  himself  and  the 
small  drowsy  recruit  at  his  elbow  ;  with  a  ring  here  and 
there  on  the  words  he  strove  to  smite  the  clerical  con- 
science with  the  protesting  activity  of  his  faith.  His  part 
ended,  Lizzie's  began.  Oh,  beautiful  soul!  suddenly  she 
made  his  angry  spite  seem  small  indeed.  Bidden  to 
"  name  this  child!  "  she  stepped  forward,  and  under  her 
breath  passed  the  words.  So  low,  Tristram,  though  he 
knew  them,  could  not  catch  their  sound.  And  as  she  re- 
linquished her  burden,  by  some  kind  of  help  the  sleeper 
was  roused,  and  lifted  a  hearty  outcry  to  the  roof.  Up 
and  up  went  the  crescendo  of  the  shamefully  disturbed 
suckling.  His  cries  served  their  charitable  purpose,  cloak- 
ing the  words  the  vicar  had  to  pronounce. 

The  ears  of  the  congregation  were  deluged  in  the  sound 
of  those  healthy  lungs.  Thus  does  bitter  ironic  life  ever 
mix  situations  of  laughter  and  tears. 

When  Mr.  Hannam  handed  back  his  burden  properly 
washed  and  bedewed,  a  staggered  look  was  upon  his 
face. 

What  had  he  heard?  He  had  expected  rebellion  to 
sign  itself  in  Tristram's  name ;  had  listened  for  that.  No; 
he  heard  instead  his  own  son's :  "  Raymond  .  .  .  Han- 
nam ..."  and  low  as  the  words  were  breathed,  had  not 
been  able  to  doubt  their  sound.  Dark  eyes  from  a  dark, 
grave  face  looked  up  into  his.  The  statement  lay  as  much 
there  as  in  the  utterance  itself.  Could  such  a  thing  be 
true ! 

Part  true,  may  be.  He  looked  at  Tristram,  and  was 
ready  to  stake  his  conviction  that  a  major  truth  lay  sup- 
pressed. Oh,  shameful !  his  own  son  ;  yes,  he  could  admit 
that  it  was  possible;  but  behind  —  behind? 

He  beheld  a  conspiracy  of  vengeance ;  thus  she  struck 


4o6  A    MODERN     ANTAEUS 

him  for  seeking-  to  purge  the  neighbourhood  of  her  pres- 
ence, for  ousting  her  from  her  home  !  Let  that  wait!  He 
resigned  himself  to  the  formal  completion  of  the  office. 
Heavily  over  the  heads  of  a  restless  congregation  the  con- 
cluding portion  of  the  afternoon  service  dragged. 

Out  rushed  the  gossipers  to  the  porch  ;  they  sat  upon 
tombstones  and  rails,  and  hung  about  the  gate  till  the 
chief  actors  should  pass  by.  The  scene  was  rehearsed, 
canvassed,  amended,  put  into  fresh  form  and  back  again  ; 
many  asked  for  the  name  —  who  had  it?  it  had  not  been 
heard.  Scandal  rattled  on  a  cracked  nut  empty  of  its 
kernel,  and  was  happy,  thinking  it  possessed  all.  Wise- 
acres harped  exultantly  on  the  indecorous  sight  they  had 
just  witnessed.  Lady  Petwyn,  too,  when  she  heard  of 
that  scene,  smote  herself  with  a  curse  for  having  ceased 
from  church-going. 

In  the  vestry  stood  Lizzie  to  have  her  child  registered. 
Before  her  sat  the  vicar  in  office,  with  suspended  pen. 

"  Is  that,"  he  asked,  "  your  own  child  I  have  just  chris- 
tened, or  another's?  " 

"  Mine,"  murmured  Lizzie,  with  her  eyes  down  on  its 
face. 

"  You  are  not  married  yet?  " 

"  No,  sir." 

"  Are  you  going  to  be?  " 

Lizzie's  colour  mounted  high :  she  did  not  answer ; 
seeming  to  ignore  his  presence,  she  began  rearranging 
the  shawl  in  which  her  child  had  its  nest. 

"  Your  silence  is  an  answer,"  said  the  vicar.  '  What  I 
have  to  ask  is  this.  Are  you  aware  that  the  name  you 
have  given  to  your  child  is  my  own  son's  name?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,  your  son's  name,"  she  answered  in  quiet 
tones. 

"  Will  you  tell  me  what  right  you  conceive  you  have  to 
call  him  by  that  name  ?  " 


SOMETHING    IX    A    NAME  407 

"  It  was  his  wish."' 

"  I  am  to  believe  that?" 

"If  you  ask  him,  sir,  I  think  he  will  tell  you  so.  He 
wrote  to  me ;  I've  not  seen  him ;  he  said  the  name  was  to 
be  his." 

There  was  dead  silence  for  a  while. 

"  And  do  you  hold  yourself  justified  in  naming  your 
child  after  my  son,  in  spite  of  any  other  circumstances  that 
may  be  unknown  to  him  ?  " 

Lizzie  was  too  simple  to  see  his  drift. 

"  I  shouldn't  have  done  it,  sir,  without  he'd  asked,"  she 
conceded,  that  she  might  be  acquitted  of  presumption  in 
the  matter. 

"  Then  I  ask  you  only  one  thing  more :  if  you  had  not 
named  it  after  my  son,  had  you  the  name  of  another  for 
it?" 

Lizzie  was  blind  still :  she  believed  all  now  to  have  been 
declared.  With  her  heart  full  of  gratitude  for  the  friend 
who  had  stood  by  her  in  need,  "  I  did  wish,"  she  said, 
"and  Mr.  Tristram  wished;  —  he  asked  me  to  name  it 

after  him ;  but  that  was  before,  before "  she  paused. 

"  I  heard  from  Mr.  Raymond  after  that." 

The  vicar  shut  his  mouth,  and  filled  in  the  Register. 
"  I  knew  it !  "  he  said  in  his  heart,  believing  that  cross-ex- 
amination had  brought  the  truth  to  his  ear.  Yet  it  was  a 
poor  triumph  he  had  gained ;  and  the  pride  of  his  name 
had  been  brought  low.  He  and  his  stood  at  least  indebted 
to  the  silence  of  this  girl  who  had  been  sinned  against  and 
sinned.  How  far  shame  had  carried  her  he  dared  no 
longer  to  ask.  She  was  armed  with  Raymond's  written 
word. 

Oh,  poor  fathers  of  sons !  oh,  the  depravity  of  young 
men  I 


CHAPTER    XXXV 


LETTERS   AND   A   VISIT 


T  ADY  PETWYN'S  comments  on  the  affair  followed 
"^  the  Tramp  up  to  town.  '  I  hear  you  have  adopted 
the  infant,"  she  wrote,  "  not  at  the  altar,  but  next  door  to 
it  —  in  sanctuary,  where  decency  couldn't  have  you  by  the 
leg,  and  haul  you  out  again.  A  good  notion,  the  result  of 
prayer,  I  imagine.  Sorry  I  was  away  that  week,  and  on 
the  day  you  came  to  scrape  your  dust  on  my  door-step. 
So  parents  are  still  made  to  be  obeyed,  are  they  —  that 
old-fashioned  notion  !  —  and  I  am  to  behold  you  no  more. 
"How  did  the  respectable  Billings  look  (the  only  truly 
respectable  one  I  can  boast  of)  when  he  opened  the  door 
to  you  the  day  after?  He  was  there  among  the  rest  of 
the  twelve  eye-witnesses  from  the  servants'  hall.  Whose 
gabble  dinning  up  from  below  shall  I  re-embellish  for  you, 
to  hear  how  a  silly,  clever  exploit  sounds  when  that  class 
gets  hold  of  it,  applying  its  own  ideals  thereto?  Seven- 
teen years  have  I  paid  for  that  pew,  which  Bones  used 
only  to  owe  for,  and  this  is  the  first  return  it  has  ever 
made  me.  Cheap  at  the  price,  I  call  it  now,  for  I  never 
thought  to  adore  virtue  like  this.  I  perceive  your  flagrant 
possession  of  it  has  made  the  neighbourhood  too  hot  to 
hold  you ;  so  what  I  lose  in  companionship,  I  gain  in  the 
elevation  of  my  ideal.  London's  your  place.  I'll  see  you 
there  before  long." 

A.0  8 


LETTERS    AND    A    VISIT  409 

"  Harriet  Jane  Petwyn,"  she  signed  herself  at  the  end 
of  a  string  of  the  half-malicious  but  harmless  tittle-tattle 
with  which  she  showed  her  contempt  for  the  world  in  gen- 
eral, and  for  her  neighbours  in  particular.  '  Your  vicar 
goes  about  the  land  with  his  head  on  one  side,  looking 
bung  up  and  sad,"  was  one  of  her  phrases  for  a  sight  that 
rather  contented  her  than  otherwise ;  and  for  a  postscript, 
'  Your  Beale  Isoud  gives  me  up  at  the  end  of  the  month ; 
I  suppose  you  have  found  washing  for  her  to  do  in. town. 
But  she  doesn't  tell  me  her  plans." 

A  fortnight  later  he  got  another  letter  from  the  lady, 
recording  a  further  progression  of  events. 

'  Your  Parthian  shaft  has  been  found  sticking,"  she 
wrote.  '  The  neighbourhood  quivers  like  a  jelly  when 
your  name  is  mentioned.  Billings,  it  seems,  had  the  ex- 
travagant curiosity  last  week  to  pay  the  fee  for  a  search  of 
the  Register ;  and  the  guileless  curate  let  him.  In  the  flick 
of  the  eye  the  thing  stood  to  view.  All  rumour  became 
boulverse  at  the  news ;  with  an  ugly  crick  in  its  tail  as  re- 
gards you,  my  friend.  Lurid  is  what  you  have  become 
now.  Only  I,  understanding  at  last  the  particular  frolic 
your  virtue  has  been  indulging  in,  can  weed  out  the  crimi- 
nal element ;  others  don't.  Your  act  reads  treasonable, 
and  nothing  less !  Don't  imagine,  because  I  acquit  you  of 
the  major  offence,  that  I  approve  your  way  of  conducting 
the  show.  Nature  does  not  require  cuckoos  to  hatch  their 
own  eggs ;  and  your  male  parent-bird  is  let  off  in  this 
country  if  he  fulfils  his  pecuniary  obligations.  I  doubt 
too  whether  a  change  of  weapons  was  permissible,  after 
you  had  received  your  knock-out  (for  I  perceive  now  the 
particular  cause  in  which  your  visage  became  clouded). 
But  the  ways  of  virtue  are  beyond  me." 

Tristram  was  finding  those  ways  hard,  now  that  they 
led  to  regular  hours  at  an  office  in  the  city  each  day, 
where  the  roar  of  the  monev-markets  of  the  world  reached 


410  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

his  ears :  to  him  a  vaporous  ado  about  nothing,  when  he 
had  not  old  Gilpinger's  enthusiasm  to  jog  him  to  its  ro- 
mantic possibilities. 

Deadlier  ordeal  still  was  the  proper  boarding-house, 
wherein  he  had  to  bury  his  leisure  under  the  weight  of 
unimpeachably  respectable  surroundings.  After  a  fort- 
night of  it  he  begged  for  relief,  complaining  of  the  tedious 
society  of  old  maids  and  city  young  men.  It  was  refused 
him  ;  his  tender  age  forbade  the  notion  of  solitary  lodgings 
to  those  who  guided  his  destiny.  Lady  Petwyn  hearing 
his  groans  gave  him  introductions,  which  served  some- 
what to  raise  his  spirits.  People  who  kept  horses  and 
rode,  even  in  no  more  open  space  than  the  now  withered 
Row,  breathed  an  air  of  country  and  freedom  over  his 
sense  of  exile. 

Among  acquaintances,  old  and  new,  he  warmed  to  two : 
Lady  Tetheridge  and  her  nephew,  Jack  Talbot,  a  happy, 
silly  youth,  sent  down  a  freshman  from  Oxford  with  the 
task  of  cooling  his  heels  for  a  twelvemonth.  The  kind 
matron  set  him  to  show  her  adorable  ploughboy  a  few  of 
the  wise  and  foolish  things  of  town:  and,  in  the  compan- 
ion thus  thrown  on  his  hands,  the  young  scapegrace  had 
presently  found  a  kind  ear  to  chatter  into  concerning  his 
college  delinquencies,  and  a  senior  who  was  in  all  worldly 
tilings  his  junior  —  a  delightful  friend  for  the  boyish  van- 
ity of  a  town  youth. 

They  met  less  often  than  they  would  have  liked  owing 
to  the  disarrangement  of  their  hours.  The  sight  of  towels 
flicking  by  the  morning  Serpentine  had  drawn  the  Tramp 
to  join  himself  to  the  celebrated  parade  of  the  buffs  which 
takes  place  there  all  the  year  round  ;  and  the  practice  drove 
him  to  his  bed  early,  when  the  chief  activities  of  Master 
Jack's  day  were  about  to  begin.  Nevertheless,  the  hint  of 
gay  things  to  be  seen  for  the  asking  became  attractive 
when  his  sparkish  friend  hung  the  weight  of  a  wheedling 


LETTERS    AND    A    VISIT  411 

hand  upon  his  arm.  A  very  innocent  likeable  mad-cap 
Tristram  found  him. 

Jack  cantered  daily  in  the  Park,  and  enquired  wonder- 
ingly  why  he  never  saw  Tristram  there.  "You  ride?" 
he  asked ;  but  as  though  the  question  were  as  superfluous 
as  "  You  wash?  "  addressed  to  an  Englishman  of  healthy 
instincts.  "  Not  here,"'  said  Tristram,  to  whom,  after  the 
claims  for  his  stolid  and  stodgy  board  were  satisfied,  small 
margin  remained.  The  enquiry  from  a  friend  fevered  him 
to  consider  the  thing  a  necessity.  By  docking  himself  of 
wine  and  a  few  other  luxuries,  and  by  a  mid-day  diet  of 
something  like  buns,  he  compassed  the  hiring  of  a  mount, 
and  on  most  days  took  a  jog  when  few  but  vigorous  appe- 
tite hunters  were  abroad.  Jack  Talbot  met  him  now  and 
then  with  protestations  against  the  unreasonableness  of 
the  hour.  "  But  you  are  so  jolly !  "  he  groaned,  and 
heaved  off  sleepy  habits  for  the  sake  of  such  fresh  com- 
radeship. 

Marcia  wrote  how  she,  too,  was  riding.  She  described 
the  sensations  of  the  exercise  to  her  brother  as,  "  like  be- 
ing tossed  up  to  heaven  in  a  blanket,  with  angels  combing 
one's  hair  all  the  time,  and  a  feeling  that  one  can't  fall 
off."  Her  letters  told  of  a  new  friend,  one  Harry  Ferring ; 
it  seemed  that  the  two  rode  together  most  days.  Harry 
was  a  girl,  god-daughter  and  ward  to  Lady  Petwyn,  who 
had  bidden  Marcia  over,  and  put  into  her  hands  this  boon 
comrade  of  her  own  age  and  sex  if  she  would  be  so 
good  as  to  approve.  Marcia's  approval  of  her  own  sex 
was  the  rarest  thing  under  the  sun ;  yet  it  was  evident 
that  at  first  sight  she  had  unstiffened  her  back-bone,  and 
yielded  to  the  charm  of  this  new  acquaintance.  Her  let- 
ters hardly  showed  what  it  was.  "  She  can't  walk  as  far 
as  I  can,  but  she's  not  afraid  of  cows,  and  she  rides  ever 
so  much  better,"  was  almost  the  only  critical  note  Marcia 
gave  of  the  newcomer's  personal  qualities. 


412  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

Tristram's  own  rides,  which  in  London  had  to  be  paid 
for,  had  brought  his  exchequer  low  ;  he  was  on  the  point  of 
relinquishing  them  when,  like  the  gift  of  a  fairy  god- 
mother, a  lavish  cheque  fell  on  him.  '  I  gather  they  have 
been  screwing  you  down,"  wrote  the  bountiful  dame,  "as 
if  good  ever  came  of  that !  Do  with  this  as  you  like ;  no 
questions  will  be  asked."  He  was  forbidden  on  utter 
pains  and  penalties  to  return  it.  '  You  may  squander  it 
in  charity  if  you  like." 

The  gift  was  accepted.  His  charity  began  at  home. 
In  the  midst  of  his  imprisonment  it  secured  him  a  flutter 
of  freedom.  The  boarding-house  had  been  protesting 
against  his  hours  —  his  early  hours.  At  one  end  of  the 
day  he  gave  trouble,  at  the  other  he  was  unsociable ;  his 
habits  cast  a  slight  on  an  establishment  which  ordered 
itself  on  a  clock-like  system  of  punctuality.  A  week  later 
he  was  in  rooms  of  his  own,  and  had  sent  word  of  the  ac- 
complished fact  to  his  home.  The  purse-strings  might 
tie  themselves  into  knots  now  ;  and  did  for  a  time,  till  his 
father  discovered  that  by  some  stealthy  means  the  terrible 
youth  had  become  independent. 

Thus  from  a  distance,  with  her  shrewd  eye  on  his  do- 
ings, informed  therein  by  Lady  Tetheridge,  who  told  tales 
of  the  youth's  social  success,  Lady  Petwyn  kept  her  hold 
on  Tristram.  She  knew  when  to  step  in  and  throw  her 
toils  to  secure  him.  Town  should  polish  him  to  her  pur- 
poses ;  two  years  would  not  be  too  much  ;  in  her  own  good 
time  she  would  reward  him  well ;  but  as  her  subject  he 
was  only  to  hear  the  declaration  of  her  favour,  to  win  his 
allegiance  without  revealing  the  actual  bait  ahead.  Cap- 
tive of  her  bow  and  spear,  was  the  game  on  which  she  had 
set  her  tyrannical  old  heart. 

She  had  jeered  Tristram  through  his  mad  fit  as  a  mere 
laughing-stock ;  now  that  his  back  was  turned  she  was  be- 
ginning to  conceive  a  grim  respect  for  the  concentrated 


LETTERS    AND    A    VISIT  413 

devilry  of  the  seizure.  She  discovered  it  to  have  been  no 
empty  flourish  of  an  addle-pate.  Results  had  been  coming 
to  light.  Within  two  months  of  his  departure  one  came 
which  shocked  the  rest  into  insignificance. 

He  received  an  enigmatic  missive,  shot  with  baleful 
gleams  of  admiration  for  the  long  reach  of  his  arm.  "  I 
confess  myself,"  wrote  the  dame,  "  a  convert  to  the  Jesuit 
doctrine.  Such  a  knock-out  as  you  have  delivered  now, 
justifies  all  the  means.  The  poor  vicar  has  taken  a  holi- 
day on  the  strength  of  it ;  his  duty  has  to  be  done  for  him 
—  I  wonder  you,  with  your  meddlesomeness,  didn't  come 
down  and  offer  for  the  vacancy.  The  news  is  a  week  old 
here ;  and  to  you,  of  course,  it  comes  stale." 

Tristram  had  not  a  notion  what  she  meant :  home- 
tidings  had  told  him  nothing  of  any  new  stir.  He  puzzled 
over  her  letter  all  day.  Returning  to  his  rooms  in  the 
evening  he  was  told  a  lady  was  waiting  to  see  him. 
'  Mrs.  Hannam  "  caught  his  ear ;  the  servant  sent  the 
name  after  him  as  he  was  ascending  the  stair.  The  word 
pitched  on  a  bewildered  mind. 

Opening  the  door  he  thought  to  meet  some  elderly  kins- 
woman of  Raymond's,  and  anticipated  small  comfort  from 
such  an  interview.  It  took  him  an  appreciable  moment  to 
recognise  the  dear  visage,  so  little  expected,  which  rose  up 
to  greet  him  as  he  advanced. 

"  Liz !  "    Was  it  she  indeed?    Her  voice  confirmed  him. 

"  Tristram,"  she  cried,  half  shy  in  dropping  at  last  the 
prefix  to  his  name. 

He  had  her  in  his  arms  ;  like  brother  and  sister  they  em- 
braced. 

"They  told  me?"  he  said;  — "they  told  me?"  He 
paused,  and  she  answered  :  — 

"  I  was  married  to  him  last  week."  She  said  it  without 
triumph,  without  emotion  ;  merely  as  one  making  a  grave 
statement  of  fact. 


414  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

"  Oh,  Liz,"  cried  her  friend,  clasping  hands  on  hers. 
"  So  it  has  come  to  that?  I'm  glad,  very  glad ;  yes,  much 
more  than  glad !  "     He  was  jubilant  and  could  not  let  her 

go- 

'Dear  friend,  I  knew  you  would  be  glad!"  she  an- 
swered.   "  Thankful  is  what  I  feel." 

'  Is  he  the  old  Raymond  again?  "  cried  Tristram,  eager 
to  have  his  friend  again  before  his  mind's  eye.  "  Is  it  his 
old  kind  self?" 

'  No  one  could  be  kinder  than  he's  been,"  she  said,  and 
said  it  without  joy.    "  He's  goodness  itself!  " 

"  And  you  love  him,  Liz  ?  "  asked  Tristram,  merely  to 
have  her  "  yes  "  clear  away  the  suspicion  of  a  cloud. 

"I  do,  oh,  I  do!" 

"  And  he  loves  you,  Liz,  you  may  be  sure  of  that."  She 
was  silent.  Her  womanhood  was  paying  its  penalty  now : 
not  a  thing  to  be  named  to  any,  even  the  dearest  friend. 
Her  debt  to  Raymond  she  was  restoring  him  patiently, 
day  by  day.  All  life  ahead  of  her,  if  need  be,  should  be 
that. 

"  He  is  coming,"  she  said ;  "  he  wishes  so  much  to  see 
you.  This  is  our  last  day  in  England.  We  go  to  South- 
ampton to-night." 

"And  the  babe?" 

Lizzie  took  up  the  heavy  sleeper  in  her  arms. 

"  He's  always  asleep,"  laughed  Tristram.  His  fingers 
fell  over  hers  to  touch  the  baby  flesh. 

"  Miss  Marcia "  be°an  she. 

Marcia,"  corrected  Tristram  ;  "  yes?  " 

'  She  used  to  call  him  her  dormouse  because  he  slept 
so. 

Tristram  smiled  into  the  face  he  was  seeing  for  the  last 
time;  then  from  the  mother's  to  the  child's,  and  said:  — 

'  Liz,  do  you  remember?  the  first  time  I  ever  had  my 
hand  on  yours,  you'd  a  dormouse  in  it." 


LETTERS    AND    A    VISIT  415 

"  Asleep,"  she  said.    "  I  remember." 

"  And  you  opened  and  let  me  stroke  it." 

"  Yes." 

"  And  we've  never  not  been  friends  after  that.  Aren't 
quite  little  things  strange  ?  " 

"  They  are  the  best  things  of  all,"  she  said. 

He  stooped  and  peeped.  "  This  one  is  growing  quite 
big ;  yet  he'll  never  remember  me." 

"  Oh,  he  must ;  I  shall  always  talk  of  you  to  him.  I 
want  you  to  give  me  something  that'll  show  you  to  him 
when  he  grows  ?  " 

Tristram  promised.  "  Marcia  shall  send  it  you,"  said 
he.    "  I  haven't  one  myself." 

"  And  you'll  give  her  my  love  ?  I  saw  her  before  I 
came  away,  but  didn't  dare  say  good-bye.  I  couldn't ;  not 
then." 

"  I'll  say  it  for  you.     She'll  understand." 

"  Yes ;  she'll  understand  ;  nobody  else  so  well.  You'll 
say  I  thank  her  too." 

They  were  realising  what  a  parting  they  were  come  to. 
It  became  best  at  last  not  to  speak  of  that.  They  sat  to- 
gether, with  long  silences  folding  their  hearts  to  the  safe 
keeping  of  time,  till  Raymond  came. 

Tristram  heard  the  wheels  that  brought  him,  and  went 
out.    The  two  friends  met  below. 

Hardly  a  word  was  said ;  it  bears  no  telling  here.  Xo 
sound  could  utter  the  overflowing  wish  these  two  had  to 
put  away  the  gap  of  friendship  from  their  memories  and 
re-fasten  the  old  bonds.  The  boyish  impulse  of  his  early 
hero-worship  returned  to  Tristram  as  they  joined  hands; 
quite  simply  for  one  moment  he  pressed  his  heart  on  his 
friend's,  and  felt  the  comfort  of  its  beat.  The  old  joy  was 
in  him  again. 

"  Here  you  are,  Ray !  "  said  he. 

"  Yes,  old  Tramp,  I'm  here !  "  answered  the  deep  voice 


4i6  A     MODERxN    ANTAEUS 

of  his  friend,  very  low.     All  that  needed  was  said  then. 
So  they  went  up  to  the  room  where  Lizzie  awaited  them. 

That  night  Tristram  felt  rich  in  grief ;  in  nothing  else. 
Out  of  his  life  had  gone  two  of  the  hearts  he  loved.  In  a 
new  mood  of  violent  regret,  it  seemed  to  him  that  his  rash 
and  unkind  remedies  had  most  of  all  aided  the  fate  which 
bore  them  away.    - 


CHAPTER   XXXVI 


ANTAEUS    IN    TOWN 


"jV/TAINLY  by  aid  of  Lady  Petwyn's  conversational  and 
epistolary  powers  we  get  our  earlier  glimpses  of 
Tristram's  life  in  town.  Ill-luck  in  certain  betting  trans- 
actions at  Epsom  and  elsewhere  during  the  year  had 
driven  her  to  the  economy  of  country  residence  for  a 
longer  time  than  was  her  custom.  Letters  from  Lady 
Tetheridge  at  last  whipped  her  up  to  town  to  behold  her 
youth  in  his  new  element.  Accounts  of  the  way  his  mod- 
est effrontery  had  been  capturing  hearts  taught  her  there 
might  be  a  danger  of  capture  to  his  own  heart  in  turn,  a 
contingency  to  be  avoided  if  her  own  plans  were  to  rule 
the  future.  To  subdue  certain  stingy  qualms  of  con- 
science, she  quarrelled  with  Tomlin,  her  country  doctor, 
declared  that  the  treatment  of  a  specialist  was  the  only 
thing  that  could  save  from  the  results  of  his  mismanage- 
ment, and  came  up  to  get  a  near  view  of  her  escaped 
lunatic. 

Mr.  Gavney,  lulled  to  acceptance  of  his  son's  change  of 
abode  by  favourable  reports  from  the  Heads  in  office,  re- 
ceived his  second  shock  from  her  mischievous  pen. 

Lady  Petwyn's  intention  to  make  the  youth  plunge  and 
cut  lively  figures  before  men's  eyes  gave  a  premature 
flourish  and  adornment  to  her  sentences. 

"  Your  son,"  she  wrote,  after  a  ride  in  the  Park,  "  sup- 
ports the  family  credit,  now  he  is  here,  in  a  style  others 

2  E  4.I7 


418  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

more  to  the  manner  born  may  well  envy.  I  met  him  rid- 
ing the  best  horse  in  the  Row,  where  my  doctor  bids  me 
amble  for  an  appetite  somewhat  before  the  fashionable 
hour ;  or,  rather,  I  avoided  meeting  him,  in  order  to  fol- 
low him  round  and  watch  people  staring  to  know  what 
kind  of  a  lord  or  foreign  prince  he  might  be.  Undoubt- 
edly he  is  a  success  at  this  end  of  town ;  whether  he  gets 
his  work  clone  in  the  other  quarter  is  a  question  beyond 
me.  He  seems  to  have  recommended  himself  to  all  the 
introductions  I  gave  him ;  certainly  he  has  taken  to  town 
life  very  fast,  considering  how  he  used  to  babble  of  green 
fields." 

As  regards  Tristram's  presence  among  the  morning 
riders,  her  exaggerations  only  skirted  a  little  short  of  the 
truth.  His  form,  not  instinct  as  yet  with  the  moderation 
of  town  equestrianism,  did  cause  a  few  to  turn  and  look 
smilingly  at  the  handsome  youth ;  and  his  love  of  having 
a  good  beast  under  him  had  taken  him  to  a  stable  where 
the  taste  could  be  satisfied.  There  his  knack  of  getting 
himself  liked  made  him  an  unconscious  subject  of  favour- 
itism, and  brought  him,  on  days  when  mounts  were  not 
greatly  in  request,  steeds  far  above  the  figure  he  paid  for 
them. 

"Circus  bounding!"  was  Lady  Petwyn's  jeer  at  the 
easy  hands-off  attitude  she  had  herself  partly  trained  him 
to.  "  Riding  in  the  face  of  Providence  and  a  top-hat !  " 
her  attack  on  the  appearance  he  presented.  Tristram's 
dress  had  been  a  compromise  on  his  way  up  to  town :  he 
caught  from  her  a  hint  which  friendly  Jack  Talbot  had 
been  too  shy  to  give,  secured  a  dressing-room  at  the 
stables  where  he  was  known,  and  thereafter  looked  less 
like  "  the  country  cousin  let  loose,"  which  was  another  of 
her  names  for  him.  Half-an-hour  after  his  appearance  in 
the  Row  saw  him  fixed  down  to  his  city  desk  for  the  day, 
and  for  a  time  at  least  exemplary  diligence  was  reported 
of  him. 


ANTAEUS    IN    TOWN  419 

His  lady  went  regularly  to  the  Park  to  get  her  rub  with 
him ;  it  was  a  favourite  place  for  showing  him  off  to  her 
circle. 

She  hailed  a  friend's  face  in  a  large,  lovely  Amazon, 
Airs.  Paisley  Cashel  by  name,  a  faithful  follower  of 
hounds,  and  one  whom  Lady  Petwyn  had,  on  past  occa- 
sions, sheltered  from  matrimonial  tyranny. 

"  Seen  my  cross-country  rider?  "  she  enquired,  pointing 
him  out  with  a  flourish  of  contemptuous  pride.  "  I've 
been  hoping  to  find  you  up  in  town  if  the  bondage  of 
weeds  was  not  holding  you  ;  fact  is,  I  want  you.  Yes ; 
that's  my  invention ;  you've  heard  me  tell  of  him ;  forget 
whether  you've  ever  seen  him  before  ?  " 

"  Oh,  the  ploughboy  ?  "  A  pair  of  admiring  fine  eyes 
tracked  him.  "  Yes,  I  recognise  him !  I've  been  up  a 
week." 

"  Long  enough,  then.  If  you'd  seen  him  once,  you 
would,"  replied  my  lady ;  "  he's  that  sort  —  always  either 
standing  on  his  head  or  falling  on  his  feet  —  one  can't 
miss  him." 

"  Yes,  and  I've  seen  him  do  it,"  cried  the  fair  one  with 
laughter. 

"  Which  ?  " 

'  The  last  chiefly ;  it  was  smartly  done."  She  spoke  of 
a  run-away  incident  of  a  few  days  back :  a  young  girl 
clinging  and  about  to  fall  from  a  horse  bolting,  and  the 
groom  left  pounding  behind.  Tristram  on  a  dive  at  the 
beast's  head,  wrenched  out  of  the  saddle,  yet  landing  on 
his  feet  firm ;  and  the  whole  run  pulled  to  a  standstill  in 
time  for  the  quakey  girl  to  slip  unharmed  to  the  ground. 
There  had  been  audible  applause  of  the  exploit  from  those 
standing  by. 

"  Like  a  circus !  "  grunted  his  proud  lady.  "  So  that's 
what  his  bandaged  wrist  comes  from?  The  creature's  so 
conceited  he  tells  one  nothing !  " 


420  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

She  dropped  an  instruction  to  her  companion,  and  on 
the  first  opportunity  beckoned  Tristram  up  to  them. 

"  Content  yourself  for  a  while  to  ride  decently,"  she 
told  him,  and  brought  him  to  make  his  bow  to  the  fair  face 
that  smiled  for  his  acquaintance. 

"  Your  riding  school  was  out  in  the  Far  West?  "  was 
the  pretended  compliment  with  which  she  greeted  him; 
"  and  now  you  are  here  to  set  us  the  fashion  of  the 
Pampas?  " 

"  No,"  said  Tristram,  "  I'm  here  to  be  got  into  fashion 
myself;  but  it's  so  early.  Till  the  crowd  comes,  mayn't 
one  ride  as  one  taught  oneself?  " 

"  How  was  that  ?  " 

"  I  used  to  ride  horses  bare-backed  when  I  was  smaller 
—  unbroken  ones." 

"  Mine,"  put  in  Lady  Petwyn. 

"  Then  Lady  Petwyn  broke  me  in  to  the  use  of  the 
saddle." 

"  And  here,"  said  that  lady,  "  you  will  kindly  also  break 
yourself  in  to  the  use  of  the  reins.  I  never  saw  such  a 
sight  in  a  London  park  as  this  slapping  and  tickling  of  a 
horse  to  steer  him." 

"  This  one  has  been  under  me  before,"  said  the  boy, 
"  and  when  they  get  to  understand  one  it's  nice  to  play 
with  them." 

"  It's  the  form  of  the  thing  you're  to  consider !  "  was 
the  dame's  correction. 

"  Talk  of  form ;  look  at  that !  "  said  Tristram,  laughing 
and  pointing  ahead. 

"  Poor  old  Lord  Keldy,"  said  Mrs.  Paisley  Cashel, 
"  riding  to  get  the  edge  of  an  appetite." 

"  A  forlorn  hope,"  commented  Lady  Petwyn,  "  for  a 
man  whose  interior  is  said  to  resemble  a  gothic  ruin." 

'  Providence,"  said  Tristram.  "  seems  to  have  set  reins 
to  his  appetite ;  and  before  him  the  meal  to  assuage  it. 


ANTAEUS    IN    TOWN  421 

Looks  as  though  he  were  picking  the  bones  of  a  particu- 
larly tough  chicken." 

Mrs.  Cashel  smiled  at  his  prompt  picture  of  the  old 
lord,  sawing  away  at  his  steed,  elbows  out  and  shoulders 
heaved. 

Lady  Petwyn's  remark  was,  "  Now  you  know  how  ab- 
surd you  look,  only  in  the  other  direction.  Don't  appear 
to  be  so  brazenly  healthy ;  give  us  a  chance  to  take  a  little 
of  it  for  granted !  I've  announced  you,  and  am  respon- 
sible for  the  figure  you  cut  here,  so  be  a  trifle  more  reti- 
cent." 

"  And  to  think,"  sighed  Tristram,  as  a  comment  on  such 
instruction,  "  that  there  are  downs  only  twelve  miles 
away,  if  one  had  only  time  to  get  there !  " 

At  the  end  of  the  ladies'  mile  his  trainer  released  him ; 
the  hour  summoned  him.  "  Come,  pony-boy !  "  they 
heard  him  say  as  they  parted,  and  saw  him  soon  a  tramp- 
ling speck  along  the  distance. 

'He's  beautiful:  quite!'1  said  Mrs.  Cashel,  with  a 
humorous  nod  of  recognition  to  his  trainer. 

"  Do  me  the  favour,  then,"  said  the  other,  "  to  let  him 
fall  in  love  with  you !  " 

"  Absurd  !     I'm  twice  his  age." 

"  Quite  so,  and  I  want  him  in  safe  keeping.  He's  ready 
to  fall  in  love  with  anything  matronly  that  lends  him  an 
eyelash  of  encouragement ;  and  as  I've  my  own  particular 
plans  for  him  I  wish  to  have  him  preserved." 

The  younger  lady  sighed  rebellious  submission.  "  You 
call  me  '  safe  '  to  pique  me  into  doing  it !  "  she  said.  "  I'm 
in  love  with  him  already !  —  were  I  ten  years  younger ! 

Well,   if  I  catch  him  I   don't  promise  I'll  let  him 

go !  " 

"  Oh,  I'll  let  him  go!  "  said  Lady  Petwyn,  with  a  grim 
persuasion  of  her  powers.  '  You  can  keep  him  till  I  want 
him,  that's  all  I  ask  of  you." 


422  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

"Then  I've  only  to  be  a  stalking  horse?"  wailed  the 
lady  comically. 

"  A  decoy  duck,  if  you  like  the  name  better." 

"  It's  the  thing,  not  the  name,  that  shunts  me  to  my 
coffin.  I  wouldn't  do  it  for  any  one  but  you ;  and  even  for 
you  I  don't  know  why !  " 

Lady  Petwyn  made  a  frank  statement.  "  The  girl's  still 
a  shade  —  not  too  young  —  she's  a  little  the  elder,  but  not 
enough ;  there's  the  difficulty ;  I  daren't  let  her  show.  I 
want  something  from  thirty  up  to  forty  till  he  gets  the 
curl  to  his  moustache.  Town  will  give  it  him  before  a 
year's  over." 

She  softened,  and  leaned  a  secret  look  into  her  friend's 
face.    "  You  can  be  mute,  Janet?  " 

•'  I  think  you've  proved  me,"  said  the  other. 

"  Very  well.    You  used  to  be  fond  of  Hill  Alwyn?  " 

"  I  spent  safe  days  there." 

Lady  Petwyn  pointed  in  Tristram's  track.  '  Now," 
said  she,  "  you  have  seen  its  future :  one  half  of  it." 


CHAPTER   XXXVII 

TRISTRAM    AND    HIS   TRAINER 

'  I  AHE  curl  did  not  come  to  Tristram's  moustache,  to 
use  Lady  Petwyn's  phrase,  quite  so  soon  as  that 
managing  dame  had  expected.  The  callowness  of  youth 
showed  in  his  perverse  preference  for  conversation  to 
looks :  charm  of  the  tongue  and  a  fair  knowledge  of  life 
recommended  a  woman  to  his  liking  more  than  beauty  or 
a  smooth  skin.  '  Talk  to  me !  "  was  his  sociable  demand ; 
and  the  passport  to  his  friendship  was  outlook  and  in- 
sight. 

Airs.  Paisley  Cashel  secured  his  liking,  yet  with  a  doubt 
whether  he  knew  her  to  be  beautiful ;  many  little  arts  and 
feminine  tricks,  obediently  practised  by  the  decoy  duck 
in  fulfilment  of  her  role,  seemed  lost  on  him.  '  You  are 
in  danger,  dear  youth,  if  you  play  that  game,"  was  her 
first  thought,  "  women  grow  piqued  by  it ;  have  a  care !  " 
After  a  while  she  came,  on  the  contrary,  to  believe  that  he 
was  safe ;  and  practising  no  more,  studied  him  with  very 
friendly  regards.  "  I  like  that !  "  she  said  to  herself, 
smiling  to  see  him  go  unconscious  through  certain  ordeals 
which  the  huntress  in  woman,  not  born  of  Artemis,  put 
on  him. 

'  Your  hot  head  has  the  secret  of  cool  blood,"  she  in- 
formed her  old  friend. 

'  The  little  wretch  is  chaste !  "  said  Lady  Petwyn.     "  I 
don't  need  to  be  told  that." 

423 


424  A     MODERN    ANTAEUS 

These  were  still  early  days. 

'  He  is  charming-,"  wrote  Lady  Tetheridge,  reviving 
with  Tristram's  mother  the  correspondence  of  their  girl- 
hood, "  but,  oh,  so  shocking!  "  A  remark  which  conveyed 
quite  a  different  meaning  from  that  which  she  intended. 

The  youth's  frankness,  for  which  after  her  rural  train- 
ing of  him  his  lady  delighted  to  set  traps  hefore  ears  least 
able  to  stand  the  assault,  was  the  main  charge  against 
him.  To  put  out  of  countenance  those  whose  social 
prudery  she  despised  (and  she  kept  many  of  them  in  her 
circle)  was  a  delight  to  the  old  dame;  she  found  her  per- 
fect material  in  one  whose  singular  faculty  for  hair- 
breadth escapes  of  unconscious  agility,  and  gaucheries 
done  with  a  modest  self-possession  that  in  itself  disarmed, 
could  make  a  whole  table  audibly  gasp,  and  the  next  mo- 
ment leave  half  of  it  laughing. 

She  kept  a  lavish  house ;  and  at  Tristram's  bank  a  bal- 
ance, whose  origin  he  forgot  to  look  into,  for  his  business- 
head  was  assumed  like  a  cap  in  office,  never  coming  west 
of  Temple  liar.  Jack  Talbot's  habits  of  friendship  also 
helped  him  to  forget  the  exact  standing  of  his  credit. 
The  accent  of  independence  grew  in  the  news  of  him  that 
reached  home.  He  had  taken  a  social  leap,  and  found  en- 
tertainment enough  in  contemplating  this  strange  modish 
world,  where  men  and  women  moved  in  graceful  conven- 
tional restraint,  athletes  in  the  art  of  ease :  it  was  a  new 
pleasure  to  the  susceptible  country -bred  youth  to  find  him- 
self popular  among  men,  and  an  intimate  of  women  with 
nice  eyes,  friendly  to  his  young  enthusiasms. 

A  lady  of  wits,  who  wrote  books,  heard  of  the  creature, 
and  asked  for  a  sight  of  him.  She  came  and  dined,  sitting 
near  to  a  brown  youth  who  sparkled  indiscretions  and 
blushed  boldly,  not  out  of  shyness,  but  from  the  mount- 
ing of  a  lively  blood  under  the  whip  of  the  fierce  old 
dame's  sarcasms  and  retorts. 


TRISTRAM    AND    HIS  TRAINER      425 

She  sighted  the  game  early  enough,  and  admired  the 
young  man's  grace  when  he  was  tripped. 

He  had  rubbed  shoulders  with  female  clerks  in  the  city, 
poor  things,  bloodless  with  close  living  and  long  hours ; 
the  employment  of  women,  therefore,  was  upon  him  in 
sharp  access  as  a  problem  to  be  solved. 

Lady  Petwyn  supposed  it  had  to  be  done  before  he 
left  London. 

"  Pooh !  "  she  said  at  his  clamour  for  equal  wages  to 
the  weaker  sex.  "  Your  virtuous  woman,  making  her 
own  living,  is  a  drug  upon  the  market." 

Tristram's  retort,  "  So  is  your  unvirtuous  —  only  look 
late  enough !  "  was  a  fine  fish  drawn  up  to  the  lady's 
bait. 

To  that  his  hostess  replied,  "  So,  like  Miss  Pry,  who 
complained  of  the  naughty  things  found  in  Johnson, 
you've  been  looking  them  out  ? "  and  sent  him  down 
again.  She  was  always  giving  him  leads ;  and  he,  too 
natural  to  perceive  the  game,  supplied  her  in  most  cases 
with  views  which  a  few  months'  experience  had  done 
little  to  amend  as  yet.  "  I  wish  you  hadn't  such  a  naked 
eye,"  she  told  him,  not  wishing  it  in  the  least ;  "  at  any 
rate,  you  might  condescend  to  clothe  it  before  com- 
pany !  "  She  was  doing  her  best  all  the  time  to  prevent 
his  seeing  that  all  the  world  was  not  to  be  talked  to  on 
the  lines  in  which  she  had  trained  him. 

This  friendly  world  in  which  he  found  himself  helped 
him  perhaps  to  fancy  that  he  was  happy  in  the  life  it  led 
him ;  he  was  at  all  events  amused.  Lady  Petwyn  carried 
back  word  of  him  to  his  home ;  and  it  was  one  well  calcu- 
lated to  rouse  alarm.  The  simple  fact  was  that  Tristram 
had  not  the  income  for  the  life  he  was  leading.  Where, 
then,  did  it  come  from?  Mr.  Gavney  feared  some  awful 
day  of  reckoning  must  be  ahead,  and  wrote  imploring  his 
son  to  keep  out  of  debt. 


426  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

Tristram  treated  his  father's  enquiries  lightly,  saying 
that  he  found  rooms  cheaper  than  the  boarding-house, 
and  what  he  saved  in  one  direction  was  able  to  fling  out 
in  another.  He  believed  he  had  a  balance  at  the  bank,  and 
thanked  for  the  remittances  that  had  preserved  it.  But 
he  wrote  to  one  who  knew  rather  too  well  that  the  allow- 
ance he  received  was  not  handsome.  Air.  Gavney 
gathered  that  his  son's  confidence  was  withdrawn  from 
him  ;  the  withdrawal  was  indeed  quite  mutual. 

Too  late  now,  the  paternal  pocket,  highly  susceptible 
to  the  danger  of  being  bled  at  this  precise  epoch  in 
affairs,  smote  its  owner  on  the  hip  for  having  thus  pre- 
cipitated the  mercurial  youth  to  the  spot  where  instinct 
and  opportunity  could  most  riotously  combine  in  causing 
it  to  disgorge.  It  was  satisfactory  at  least  to  learn  that 
Tristram  was  still  regular  in  his  attendance  on  duty, 
though  his  hour  of  arrival  had  become  eleven  instead 
of  ten. 

Lady  Petwyn  did  her  best  to  stimulate  Mr.  Gavney's 
fears ;  flinging  out  wild  views  of  the  youth  caught  up 
by  the  giddy  whirl  of  fashion,  she  gave  the  figure  of  one 
buoyantly  financed ;  and  with  designing  craft  set  his 
nerves  shuddering  by  congratulating  him  on  the  hand- 
some provision  he  had  made  for  his  son's  introduction  to 
Life.  Her  stress  on  the  word  made  it  as  if  spelled  with 
a  capital  that  had  been  better  away,  and  threw  less  day- 
light than  gaslight  on  the  meaning  it  covered.  To  set 
the  apron-strings  fluttering  for  a  renewed  hold  of  the 
emancipated  youth  who  had  so  long  strained  in  their 
leash,  was  very  agreeable  to  her  mind.  Tn  the  end  he  was 
to  follow  her  leading,  not  theirs ;  and  if  she  could  not 
have  him  cutting  all  the  capers  she  wished,  to  report  as 
cutting  them  was  the  only  thing  left  to  her. 

Before  leaving  she  had  taken  means  to  have  him  intro- 
duced beyond  her  own   rather  middle-aged  set,  to  the 


TRISTRAM    AND    HIS  TRAINER     427 

manly,  clubbable  youth  of  town,  calculating  on  them  to 
turn  to  a  series  of  dissolving  views  his  provincial  notions 
of  all  that  blood,  breeding,  and  the  word  honour 
decreed. 

For  this  purpose  she  handed  him  over  to  one,  Captain 
Rasselles,  a  skilled  Adonis  of  forty,  to  be  looked  after, 
pushed  here,  pulled  there,  but  for  the  most  part  be  let 
alone,  save  for  the  observation  of  a  friendly  eye.  Tris- 
tram found  him  an  attractive  enough  sort  of  fellow, 
combining  a  sportive  manliness  with  the  subtle  refinement 
of  town. 

"  Show  him  Life,"  said  the  lady,  instructing  him  confi- 
dentially beforehand ;  "  within  reason,  I  mean,  of  course." 
Consideration  had  taught  her  that  for  her  purpose  in- 
genuous youth  must  be  set  to  school ;  much  thought  it 
amused  her,  it  took  too  long  to  be  rid  of  its  indiscretions, 
and  her  limbs  warned  her  at  times  of  the  fast  approach 
of  age.  Warfare  had  been  her  life ;  she  wished  now  for 
peace  as  the  solace  of  her  decline,  and  to  hear  the  echoes 
of  Hill  Alwyn  filled  with  a  blend  of  the  only  two  romances 
her  life  contained.  "  Mind,"  she  added,  "  I  don't  want 
the  bloom  taken  out  of  his  cheeks.  Let  him  be  healthy, 
but  do  put  into  his  head  a  little  of  the  something  that  is 
lacking.  He  wants  congruity,  and  an  understanding  that 
to  be  a  gentleman  is  not  necessarily  to  be  a  Joseph.  How 
he  escapes  the  Puritan  sniffle  and  the  wide  bib  I  don't 
know ;  unless  because  he  has  jumped  back  clear  into  the 
Middle  Ages.  He  comes  up  here  with  a  past,  I  can  assure 
you  ;  there's  not  a  sound  windmill  left  in  his  native  tilting- 
ground.  Teach  him  also  to  talk  to  unmarried  women, 
young  ones ;  he  becomes  dumb  before  them.  At  present 
when  he  chatters  he's  like  a  jack-in-the-box  in  the  con- 
fessional. That's  the  peculiarity  of  the  male  species ; 
its  tongue  only  becomes  decently  discreet  when  its  life 
is  discreetly  indecent.     I  leave  him  with  you,  because  I 


428  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

detect   in   you   the   perfect   medium   between   virtue  and 
vice." 

Captain  Rasselles  bowed  his  acknowledgements,  and 
when  the  lady  was  gone,  drew  Tristram  to  his  schooling 
with  a  genial  hand. 


CHAPTER   XXXVIII 


A    CHANGE    OF    ADDRESS 


QPRING  blew  into  the  gateless  city,  and  in  a  single 
breath  taught  Tristram  to  know  the  captive  he  had 
become.  One  of  those  great  heavings  of  Nature's  heart 
had  taken  place,  lifting,  like  a  beneficent  Pandora,  the  lid 
off  the  season's  delay,  to  reveal  what  simmerings  lay 
below ;  and  at  once  a  sweet  steaming  fragrance  filled  all 
the  air,  and  the  silent  rush  on  summer  had  begun. 

To  Tristram  it  was  like  the  migrant's  call.  An  almost 
physical  longing  to  run  for  some  field  out  of  sight  of 
roofs,  and  roll  himself  in  the  resurrecting  grass,  fetched 
him  from  office ;  a  spiritual  nausea  for  figures  and  the 
calculations  of  commerce  seized  on  his  brain. 

His  claim  to  a  day's  freedom  was  grudgingly  accorded 
by  the  authorities ;  he  ranged  out  with  an  eye  to  any 
beckoning  ridge  of  trees,  till  sweet  stretches  of  Kentish 
country  faced  him  in  their  fresh  green. 

The  larches  which  Doris  had  taught  him  to  look  out 
for  at  this  season  were  already  wearing  their  little  beads 
of  blood,  and  bristling  in  tiny  spirts  of  living  green  ;  and 
every  over-head  elm  into  which  he  gazed  was  white  with 
the  unsheathing  of  its  first  growth.  Where  his  hand 
rested  on  them  long  enough  the  moist  rinds  of  the  young 
saplings  seemed  to  heave  at  the  push  of  an  intelligence 
below.  He,  too,  shared  in  the  general  wisdom,  and  while 
daylight  lasted  turned  his  back  upon  town. 

He  supped  late  at  a  wayside  inn,   after  roundabout 

429 


43o  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

goings,  and  at  twenty  direct  miles  from  town  turned  to 
walk  back  under  a  dim  sky  of  stars. 

The  steady  elation  of  the  road  was  in  his  blood;  that 
grey  serpent  winding  through  a  dusk}-  land  was  the 
counsellor  who  of  all  had  failed  him  least,  when  the 
distempers  of  life  pressed  hard.  Over  his  senses  cool 
night  air  was  pouring  its  balm ;  he  was  the  Tramp,  feel- 
ing once  more  the  almost  forgotten  power  of  his  limbs 
under  him.  He  might  be  stiff  on  the  morrow ;  he  had  not 
reached  his  limits  as  yet.  Twenty  miles  of  wisdom  were 
between  him  and  that  submissive  folly  in  which,  if  he 
were  to  stick  to  the  letter  of  his  word,  two  years  of  his 
life  were  yet  to  waste.  Sugared  folly  —  for  he  admitted 
that  there  was  some  sweetness  where  he  had  expected 
nothing  but  bitterness  to  be  —  but  folly :  his  mind  now 
saw  that  clearly.  He  wondered  on  what  point  of  honour 
he  was  to  consider  himself  held.  The  only  one  to  whom 
he  had  given  his  word  would  release  him  from  it ;  he 
knew  that  he  had  merely  to  ask.  It  had  been  a  bargain  of 
consent ;  his  own  decision  would  set  him  free. 

Said  Wisdom,  "  Here  is  the  spring  and  the  bloom 
beginning,  and  life  is  not  to  be  lived  twice ;  have  courage 
to  be  humble  and  say,  '  It  is  a  mistake,  I  am  wasting,  I 
must  be  free.' '  But  to  answer  that  came  Folly,  crying 
sweets,  denying  the  waste,  "You  are  learning  life:  men 
and  women,  like  a  book  gaily  run  through  the  hand,  are 
showing  you  the  world  as  it  is  made.  You  make  friends ; 
you  are  courted;  they  like  you;  it  is  not  flattery  that 
you  hear.  If  for  all  this  you  pay  a  price,  do  you  not 
receive  good  value?"  Wisdom  said,  "  Rut  these  people 
and  these  sights,  is  it  among  these  that  you  plan  to  spend 
your  days?  Does  your  scheme  of  life  lie  here  or  there? 
Are  you  not,  in  touching  new  friends,  losing  touch  with 
old?  And  is  it  '  for  a  time  '  worth  anything  to  do  what 
does  not  bring  you  to  your  goal  ?  "     "  But,"  Folly  ob- 


A    CHANGE    OF    ADDRESS  431 

jected,  "  what  other  goal  lies  in  view?  Does  any  circum- 
stance offer,  that  spells  a  fuller  freedom  to  the  soul  ?  " 
Wisdom  said,  "  Every  man  possessing  his  four  limbs 
and  a  head  has  at  least  these  to  try  before  saying,  '  I 
am  without  power  to  be  myself.'  "  Thus,  or  thus  about, 
the  colloquy  of  his  brain  shaped,  as  he  tramped  the  way 
leading  back  to  town.  His  blood  rhymed  to  the  speech 
of  one ;  by  the  other  it  was  merely  tickled.  When  he 
fetched  a  breath  of  the  night,  it  was  one  only  that  he 
heard. 

The  conference  was  interrupted.  Along  the  firm  track 
of  the  high  road  he  became  aware  of  an  obscurity  ahead 
of  him.  A  waggon  stacked  high  with  baskets  under  a 
tarpaulin  hood,  stationary  and  askew,  waited  where  no 
sign  of  habitation  was  to  be  seen.  One  of  its  wheels  had 
sunk  into  the  grass-edged  drain-course  which  divided 
the  footpath  from  the  road.  Passing  round  to  the  horses 
by  the  flicker  of  a  lantern,  Tristram  perceived  the  driver's 
seat  to  be  empty,  and  a  dark  body,  lying  partly  under  the 
shafts,  partly  against  the  foundered  wheel.  He  took 
down  the  light  and  examined  closer.  The  cause  of  the 
accident  was  fairly  clear ;  a  sleepy  head,  a  gradual  drag 
on  the  left  rein,  a  sudden  tilt  into  the  ditch,  and  there  was 
a  poor  fellow  fit  only  to  be  carted  to  hospital. 

Tristram  got  the  man  up  against  the  bank,  and  searched 
for  the  flask  he  guessed  the  likeliest  companion  of  a  night- 
waggoner  on  his  road.  In  a  while  he  had  wrought  a 
beginning  of  consciousness  into  the  hulk  of  flesh  that 
sprawled  there. 

"  I  bean't  drunk,"  drawled  the  fellow,  feeling  that 
hands  had  hold  upon  him. 

"  No,  my  friend,  but  I  found  you  in  a  ditch  ;  so  you'd 
the  less  excuse  for  getting  there,"  replied  Tristram. 
:'  Here,  keep  that  arm  still,  it's  there  you've  done  yourself 
the  damage." 


432  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

'  Damage  be  damned !  "  said  the  man,  unaware  as  yet 
how  things  stood  with  him.    "  'Oo  be  you  ?  " 

"At  this  moment,  I'm  your  doctor.  If  I  give  you  a 
hand,  d'you  think  you  can  stand  upright?  " 

"  Yer  think  I'm  drunk !  "  answered  the  man,  with  some 
ill-will ;  to  prove  the  falseness  of  the  supposition,  he 
hauled  himself  up  by  the  aid  of  an  arm,  and  straightway 
collapsed  again. 

"  Seems  to  me  I  be !  "  was  his  honest  conclusion  of  the 
matter  on  thus  finding  himself  down :  more  must  have 
gone  on  in  his  world  than  he  was  aware  of.  Struggling 
to  recall  whence  came  this  lapse  from  sobriety,  and  at 
what  wayside  tavern,  —  the  memory  that  he  was  sup- 
posed to  have  a  waggon  under  his  charge  hammered  at 
his  consciousness.  "  Where  be  the  cairt  ?  "  he  enquired, 
not  sighting  it  beyond  the  beams  of  the  lamp  that  hung 
over  him. 

'  It's  here,"  said  Tristram.  "  I  have  to  get  you  into 
it." 

'  It's  got  to  be  up  at  Covent  Garden  before  foive," 
declared  the  fellow,  without  any  concern  as  to  his  own 
condition  for  getting  it  there. 

Tristram  gave  his  word  that  it  should  be  done.  "That's 
reasonably  easy ;  the  difficulty  is  where  to  put  you !  " 
He  looked  up  at  the  dumpy  round  baskets  piled  one  on 
the  top  of  another;  until  the  cart  was  emptied  no  lying 
was  to  be  found  amongst  those ;  nor  was  the  perch  in 
front  the  place  for  a  man  bruised  and  disabled.  Tris- 
tram's practical  sense  took  him  round  to  the  tail-board; 
he  found  it  more  lightly  laden  than  the  body  of  the 
waggon,  and  straightway  began  hauling. 

He  discovered  presently  that  he  was  under  an  over- 
seer whose  word  he  might  not  disregard.  Called  on  to 
explain  his  doings,  he  heard  that  those  unloadings  were 
not  to  be  left  on  the  road  ;  place  must  be  found  for  them ; 


A     CHANGE     OF     ADDRESS  433 

either  all  went  or  all  stayed  together,  man  and  load.  An 
honourable  thirty  years'  record  of  the  road  had  to  be 
looked  to.  That  a  man  should  slumber  at  his  post  and 
get  pitched  out  on  to  his  head  was  an  act  of  God ;  but 
to  go  back  to  his  employer  with  market-baskets  not 
accounted  for,  was  outside  the  honest  carter's  reckon- 
ing. "  Be  danged  to  'e,  you  do  as  I  tell  'e !  "  quoth  the 
fellow,  "or  you  let  it  be!"  The  Tramp  spent  a  good 
half-hour  hauling  and  re-arranging  to  suit  the  unreason- 
able dictates  of  a  man  who  sat  dizzy  and  helpless  against 
the  hedge,  fit  only  to  be  loaded  on,  and  freighted  to  the 
nearest  hospital. 

With  difficulty  he  was  finally  got  up.  Tristram  found 
sacking  and  horse-cloths  to  put  under  him,  and  left  him 
in  all  the  comfort  that  circumstances  made  possible.  He 
received  no  thanks  for  any  of  these  services ;  but  the 
enquiry  "  Be  you  a  waggoner?  "  addressed  to  him  before 
he  went  round  to  the  horses  was  a  better  reward,  and 
helped  to  buckle  his  heart  to  the  work  which  lay  ahead. 
He  took  his  seat  up  in  front,  and  started  the  beasts  on 
their  long  foot-pace  jog  toward  London-town.  It  was 
after  midnight  then. 

Before  an  hour  was  over  the  searching  chills  of  the 
spring  night  had  struck  his  blood;  he  got  down  again, 
and  walking  alongside  came  presently  through  Chisle- 
hurst,  feeling  its  dim  bank  of  woods  upon  his  right,  and 
seeing  for  the  first  time  ahead  of  him  the  hectic  flush. 
which  marked  the  whereabouts  under  heaven  of  the  great 
gaoler-city,  charged  with  the  fate  of  its  four  million 
human  souls. 

Some  ironic  amusement  stirred  the  Tramp's  mind. 
Here  was  he,  one  of  thousands  under  the  same  quiet 
canopy  of  stars,  carting  the  sleeping  beast  its  food.  To 
this,  then,  after  all,  tended  the  life  of  the  tilled  acres  over 
which  plain  Hodge  toiled  with  horny  hands.     In  modern 

z  r 


434  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

England  natural  man  lived  but  on  sufferance,  or  so  long 
as  he  subserved  the  great  maw  that  drained  the  ever  less 
adequate  resources  of  its  soil.  Yes,  in  his  own  country, 
Town  had  become  the  heart  of  life;  thence  did  little 
Great  Britain  reach  out  hands  over  the  whole  world,  most 
just  and  mighty  and  grasping  of  all  the  breeders  of  men. 
Let  him  not  maudle  to  be  quit  of  her,  unless,  like  Ray- 
mond, he  were  ready  for  a  bold  break  with  his  age,  and 
across  the  seas  to  bow  himself  to  the  simpler  ambitions 
of  the  furrow  and  the  fold. 

Thus  the  Tramp  to  himself,  driving  his  slow  market- 
cart  up  to  town.  The  man  at  his  back  dozed ;  Tristram's 
occasional  call  to  know  how  he  fared  ceased  to  extract 
a  growling  response.  Three  hours  had  registered  their 
flight,  and  the  heavy  pace  of  the  team  at  last  brought 
weariness  to  his  feet ;  forced  thus  to  plod,  he  found 
monotony  becoming  a  test  to  his  spirits,  as  the  signs  of 
town  grew  round  him.  He  passed  through  straggled 
miles  of  villadom,  looking  cosy  amid  clustered  evergreens 
in  the  dull  light,  and  presently  was  threading  shallow 
streets  of  artisan  dwellings,  newly  built,  where  men  were 
already  rising  for  the  distant  scenes  of  their  toil.  From 
right  and  left,  wheels  were  beginning  to  converge  upon 
his  way,  most  of  them  laden  like  his  own ;  past  him  at 
double  pace  a  great  milk-cart  rattled  and  clanged.  Cows, 
then,  must  be  milked  at  the  dead  of  night :  for  it  was  night 
still ;  yet  here  around  him  were  men  up,  with  hours  of 
toil  already  counted  in  to  their  day's  work.  A  caller  ran 
down  the  street  routing  slumberers  from  their  rest; 
knockers  were  beaten,  and  windows  tapped  with  the  end 
of  a  long  pole.  'Twas  a  postman  without  bags,  bringing 
regularly  the  time  of  night  when  weary  men  must  give 
up  their  beds.  Homing  cats  knew  the  hour,  and  at  the 
sound  of  him,  as  at  the  coming  of  the  cat's-meat-man,  ran 
shadowlike   across   the   open    to   squat   at   doors   which 


A    CHANGE    OF    ADDRESS  435 

would  presently  unfasten  and  admit  them  to  warmth  and 
food. 

The  air  had  become  very  chill,  and  not  a  wink  of  dawn 
was  due  for  another  hour,  as  he  drew  his  horses  into 
Deptford  and  viewed  the  brown  squalor  of  its  littered  and 
deserted  streets  under  the  shabby  gaslight  on  either  side 
the  way.  Somewhere  about  here  was  a  hospital  he 
knew ;  a  policeman  directed  him,  eyeing  him  doubtfully 
when  he  spoke  of  his  mate  laid  up  behind  with  a  broken 
arm. 

Tristram  took  him  round  to  have  a  look  at  the  fellow, 
stolidly  asleep  in  spite  of  a  bruised  head  and  the  shaking 
of  the  road ;  he  envied  such  stout  nerves,  or  even  the  dull 
vegetable-like  strain  of  tissue  through  which  pain  was  a 
mere  floating  discomfort  with  no  power  to  obtrude  when 
leisure  was  found  for  sleep. 

Under  a  large  archway,  where  a  light  swung,  gate- 
porters  came  to  help  the  carter  down.  His  head  still 
waggled  with  obstinate  drowsiness,  and  he  was  reluctant 
to  let  his  waggon  go.  The  Tramp  bade  him  be  easy, 
promising  that  before  five,  Covent  Garden  should  have 
its  delivery  in  strict  tale,  according  to  the  way-bill  passed 
on  to  him. 

"Count  the  baskets!"  was  the  final  injunction  he  re- 
ceived as  he  saw  the  patient  carried  through  the  hospital 
doors;  he  gave  his  word  to  return  and  report  on  duty 
done.    Before  noon,  waggon  and  all  should  be  there. 

The  Old  Kent  Road  had  not,  at  that  date,  roused  the 
lyric  ardour  of  the  music-halls ;  and  its  two  miles  of 
slovenly  shop-fronts  and  uncleaned  gutters  were  without 
the  associated  charm  of  coster  ebullience  to  give  it  soul. 
Not  till  the  Tramp  neared  Waterloo  Bridge  did  any 
beauty  of  aspect  in  city  or  atmosphere  begin  to  reward 
him  for  his  unbedded  and  chilly  condition.  The  yielding 
of  night  to  dawn   had  been   proceeding  under  a   slow 


436  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

thickening  of  the  firmament,  film  upon  film,  till  behind 
them  the  stars  shrank  rayless  and  resigned.  Now  in  the 
cold,  shivering  east  a  whiteness  began  to  tell,  revealing 
like  a  dark  sounding-board  overhead,  one  spreading 
canopy  of  cloud,  low  and  brown,  smirched  with  the  dross 
of  the  city's  upcast  breath.  Its  fringed  edges  were  but 
waiting  for  the  wind's  fall  to  drop  rain  and  send  a  uni- 
form greyness  over  the  tremulously  mounting  light,  whose 
quickening  motion  seemed,  each  moment,  to  prelude 
the  Mushing  consciousness  of  day. 

Gaslights  disappeared  from  point  to  point  along  vistas 
of  streets,  leaving  them  nakedly  aware  of  the  colder 
heaven  opening  on  them  from  above ;  the  effect  was  as 
the  change  of  a  painter's  touch  from  canvas  to  fresco ; 
tawny  shadows  yielded  to  grey.  The  foot-falls  of  a  few 
pedestrians  singled  themselves  far  along  each  street. 
Traffic  grew  and  became  faster  in  pace.  News-carts 
whipped  by.  Tristram's  waggon  formed  one  of  a  slow- 
moving  line  skirting  the  curb ;  a  dozen  similar  could  be 
seen  at  intervals  along  the  road  leading  to  the  bridge. 

Steely  light,  as  he  crossed,  shot  up  from  the  water, 
between  black  barges  swinging  slowly  in  the  pull  of  the 
tide.  And  now  a  shrewd  wind  blew  strong  across  the 
wide  river-way,  and  in  the  heavens  overhead  began  roll- 
ing aside  the  threatening  surfaces  of  cloud.  Lucent 
spaces  of  pale  gold  opened  like  windows  under  the 
grey,  and  like  slow  bars  of  music,  light  flooded  and 
grew  strong. 

Across  the  Strand,  up  Wellington  Street,  and  into 
Russell  Street,  Tristram  piloted  his  charge,  and  stood 
wedged  by  the  incoming  stream.  It  took  him  a  quarter 
of  an  hour  to  work  round  to  his  place  of  delivery. 

The  name  on  his  waggon-board  was  like  the  carcass  to 
the  eagles ;  porters  pounced  and  began  carrying  off  their 
prey.     They  ran  close,  one  behirid  the  other  in  strings 


A     CHANGE    OF    ADDRESS  437 

of  eight  or  ten,  brawny  fellows  in  jerseys  and  vests,  with 
foul,  merry  mouths,  swinging  at  a  smart  pace  under  their 
head-balanced  loads.  A  foreman  coming  up  for  the 
invoice,  at  first  took  Tristram  to  be  joking  when  he 
claimed  the  waggon  to  be  his.  When  he  got  his  receipt 
he  found  that  it  would  be  hours  before  he  could  take  up 
his  returned  empties  ;  it  seemed  likely  that  Co  vent  Garden 
would  engage  his  energies  for  the  whole  day.  He  was 
told  where  he  might  stand  his  waggon  and  give  the  horses 
their  feed.  Looking  within  he  cried,  "  Hullo,  but  you've 
not  cleared !  "  Two  low  square  boxes  lay  still  on  the  floor 
of  the  waggon. 

'  Nothing  to  do  with  us,"  said  the  man,  who  had  given 
him  his  discharge  for  the  broccoli,  parsnips,  spring 
spinach,  and  kale,  which  had  formed  the  bulk  of  his 
load.     What  remained  now  were  flowers. 

'  Yonder's  where  they  go !  "  He  pointed  across  the 
yard.  Tristram  ploughed  his  way  into  a  seething  mass, 
where,  among  floral  deliveries  still  going  on,  flower- 
sellers  were  already  purchasing  for  the  streets.  Baskets 
knocked  his  shins,  and  bruised  his  back  and  sides ;  he 
stumbled  wearily  about  from  stall  to  stall,  and  shot  en- 
quiries to  right  and  left  for  any  one  accustomed  to  receive 
of  Mr.  James  Coggerton,  of  Orpingley,  Kent.  None 
answered  him.    He  drew  out  at  last  in  despair. 

Having  seen  to  his  horses  and  stationed  them  as 
directed  in  line  with  other  empty  vans,  there  seemed 
nothing  left  but  to  trust  to  chance  and  a  time  when  the 
market  was  less  occupied,  for  discovering  where  his  last 
delivery  was  due.  The  sight  of  a  coffee-stall,  with  bread 
in  huge  slices  and  smoking  urns,  told  him  he  was 
famished  as  well  as  cold. 

Here  also  there  was  a  throng  bustling  to  be  served ;  he 
had  to  wait  his  turn.  Ahead  of  him  a  woman  with  a 
jetty  bonnet  over  one  eye  worked  hustling  to  be  first. 


438  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

When  furious  altercation  rose,  he  distinguished  the  voice 
that  matched  the  bonnet,  "  1  am,  am  I  ?  "  came  truculent 
challenge,  met  by  a  squeal  of  rage.  '  Yer  will,  will  yer?  " 
told  in  another  moment  of  un feminine  warfare  begun. 
Across  the  corner  of  the  stall  one  lunged,  and  mugs 
danced  and  rattled.  Resolute  peace-makers  held  between  : 
the  disputants  could  do  no  more  than  screech  and  scratch 
arms.  The  one  imprisoned  termagant  beat  herself  against 
pacifying  barriers,  like  a  butter-pat  in  a  churn ;  the  other, 
panting  to  the  assault  from  without,  declared  her  griev- 
ance to  the  crowd :  it  was  great :  could  ears  hear  her  and 
not  be  moved  ? 

"  She  called  me  a  giddy  old  whelk !  "  Out  flourished 
a  hat-pin.  "  I'll  whelk  her!  only  let  me  get  at  her!  "  she 
yelled,  and  made  a  renewed  dab  for  her  quarry.  Down 
over  both  eyes  flapped  the  untethered  bonnet. 

These  were  the  miserable  night-scum  of  the  streets, 
soured  at  the  barren  coming  of  dawn.  Honest  labour 
laughed  and  looked  on,  contented  merely  to  hold  them 
apart. 

"  'Ark  to  her !  she's  got  a  voice  like  a  crab !  "  cried  the 
ingenious  inventor  of  the  epithet  that  had  roused  wrath. 
A  comely  wench,  basket-laden,  laughed  at  the  aptness  of 
the  phrase ;  for  it  was  a  queer  voice  that  the  old  whelk 
possessed,  and  indeed  very  like  a  crab's.  The  injured 
jade  flew  at  her.  Laugh,  would  she?  The  poor  pretty 
one  showed  genuine  panic ;  in  another  moment  hat  and 
feather  might  be  a  ruin  to  the  eye.  She  threw  out  pro- 
testing arms :  "  Oh,  my  'at  and  'airpins !  "  was  her  cry. 
Tristram,  being  nearest,  intervened.  "  Come,  missis !  " 
said  he. 

"Who  are  yer  touching?"  cried  the  woman,  as  she 
struggled  in  his  embrace.  Her  accent  was  on  the  touch ; 
the  outrage  on  her  person  was  great.  The  girl  had 
scuttered  to  a  safe  distance :  Tristram  relaxed  his  hold. 


A     CHANGE    OF    ADDRESS  439 

"  Who  are  yer  touching?  "  the  fierce-tongued  jade  went 
on,  finding  herself  at  liberty  again.  "  Touch  mc,  will  yer? 
d'yer  calls  yerself  a  respectable  man  ?  What  d'yer  think 
/  am,  then  ?  —  A  respectable  grandmother !  "  she  in- 
formed the  world,  and  she  spurned  lesser  recognition ; 
an  ancestress  at  forty,  she  could  make  her  boast. 

"  All  right,  granny !  "  answered  the  youth.  "  You  want 
your  breakfast,  that's  what's  the  matter  with  you.  Come 
along  and  you  shall  have  it !  " 

The  woman  found  herself  dealing  with  one  of  the 
quality ;  she  beheld  treating  possibilities  in  his  eye,  and 
became  a  lamb. 

Friendliness  settled  on  the  crowd;  the  time  of  day  was 
medicinal  to  all.  Tristram's  heart  grew  happy  as  the 
mug  of  hot  brown  fluid  went  up  to  his  lips.  At  his 
elbow  came  the  young  girl  he  had  succoured  from  the 
old  whelk's  rage.  She  smiled  shyly  on  him,  but  was  ready 
enough  to  be  treated  when  pressed.  Flowers,  she  told 
him,  were  her  trade.  And  of  its  ways  some  of  the  ins 
and  outs  and  hardships  were  given  him  to  comprehend, 
while  he  plied  her  with  buns.  With  luck,  the  girl  had, 
she  informed  him,  just  five  shillings  in  hand  each  morn- 
ing for  fresh  purchases ;  she  could  pick  and  choose  then ; 
but  luck  seldom  kept  strong  two  days  at  a  time.  Without 
it,  shady  doings  had  to  be  practised. 

"  There's  days  when  p'r'aps  I  can  only  afford  a  bob's 
worth,"  said  she.  "  Then  I  takes  'em  home,  and  mixes 
'em  with  last  day's ;  there's  art  in  that.  But,  lor' !  that 
means  goin'  about  an'  doin'  it  like  as  you  was  'ungry  an' 
'omeless,  and  you  'as  to  pick  out  the  folk  as  don't  reely 
want  'em.  It  wears  yer  out,  that  do,  I  can  tell  yer.  If 
yer  can  afford  good  'uns,  you  sets  yerself  down  in  a  place 
where  they  know  yer,  and  custom  comes. 

"  Then  you've  to  'ave  a  good  eye  for  what  goes  down. 
Up  at  Kensin'ton,  they'll  buy  weeds,  they  will ;  anything 


440  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

that  looks  as  if  it  'ad  slep'  in  the  country  the  night  hefore. 
Whitechapel  way,  they  won't.  Geraniums  '11  sell  there, 
when  Kensin'ton  won't  even  sniff  at  'em.  Oh,  you  'ave 
to  be  careful,  that  you  do!  " 

Tristram  asked,  what  worst  strait  she  bad  ever  been 
put  to. 

"  Once  I  'adn't  got  a  penny  to  get  a  bed,"  she  told  him. 
"  It  did  seem  'ard ;  las'  summer  that  was.  I  walked  the 
streets,  an'  kep'  be'ind  the  bobbies ;  even  then  I  'ad  a  time, 
always  'ad  to  be  on  the  move  and  not  get  rekonised. 
Bobbies  is  bad  theirselves,  yer  know,  sometimes;  that 
they  are !  Up  at  'Ampstead,  and  a  bit  out,  they're  the 
worst.  They'll  swear  anything  to  cover  theirselves.  Oh, 
you  know !  Well,  I  tell  yer,  you  want  to  be  cured  of 
thinking  there  isn't  no  'ell ;  you  do  a  night  out  in  the 
street ;  that'll  'elp  yer  soul,  that  will !  " 

He  discerned  under  her  unblushing  speech  an  honest 
girl,  merely  hardened  in  a  sort  of  brazen  modesty  by  the 
perilous  independence  of  her  calling.  Twenty-four  hours 
lav  between  her  and  the  thing  she  would  not  blush  to 
name,  vet  lived  this  life  to  be  free  from.  There  was 
beauty  under  the  pinched  face,  certainly  in  the  abundant 
soft  hair ;  it  caused  Tristram  to  ask,  if  she  had  never 
thought  of  marrying. 

A  slight  shudder  coursed  through  her  at  the  words. 
"Marry!"  she  said.  "I  saw  father  beat  mother  to 
death.  I  was  a  little  'un  then.  He  didn't  do  it  all  at  once, 
so  they  brought  it  in  manslaughter,  and  he  came  out 
again  in  a  twelvemonth.  Then  'e  'ad  another  woman  in, 
and  began  beatin'  'er,  and  when  she  went  off  he  began 
beatin'  me.  T.or'!  T've  a  mark  now.  One  night  T  stole  a 
shillin'  out  of  his  pocket  and  run.  T've  seen  'im  since; 
but  I  know  the  ropes  ;  'e  daren't  touch  me  now !  Marry ! 
I  ain't  seen  the  man  I'd  trust  yet." 

She  told  her  tale  as  though  it  held  more  comedy  than 


A     CHANGE     OF     ADDRESS  441 

tragedy ;  thanked  Tristram  for  the  coffee  and  buns,  but 
would  take  no  money.  "  You  be  a  detective,  ain't  yer?  " 
she  asked  him,  making  him  laugh  out.  He  told  her  his 
plight.  "  Why,"  she  said,  "  /  know  who  you's  lookin' 
for ;  come  on,  you'll  be  late.  It's  a  greengrocer  up  from 
Chelsea  what  your  man  brings  flowers  for."  The  young 
man  submitted  himself  to  her  guidance ;  after  a  hunt  they 
found  the  tradesman  they  were  in  search  of.  Tristram 
got  a  clean  draft,  at  last,  and  before  noon  had  returned 
with  the  waggon  and  its  empties  to  the  carter  awaiting 
him  at  Deptford.  The  indomitable  man  meant  driving 
himself  home ;  the  hospital  authorities  interfered.  In- 
stead, he  was  driven. 

He  offered  his  deputy  half-a-crown  for  the  perform- 
ance of  the  job;  that  being  the  full  amount  of  his  own 
pay,  seemed  to  him  fair  wage.  Tristram  was  reluctant 
to  refuse  it,  but  did,  though  it  lowered  him  in  the  man's 
eyes  that  waggoning  turned  out  not  to  be  his  trade. 

Tristram  had  slept  in  the  waggon  for  three  hours  while 
waiting  for  his  return  load.  He  arrived  at  his  office 
about  two  in  the  afternoon,  and  took  from  his  employer, 
with  the  most  cheerful  countenance,  the  reprimand  due 
to  him. 

With  less  cheerfulness  he  received  a  few  days  later  a 
similar  dressing  from  home.  He  was  indignant  and 
amazed  to  hear  that  his  lax  hours  were  a  cause  of  anxiety, 
and  the  reference  was  not  merely  to  those  owed  to  busi- 
ness. It  was  apparent  that  report  of  him  had  been 
gathered  from  his  lodgings. 

He  gave  no  reason  to  his  landlord  for  an  immediate 
change  of  address.  To  his  father  he  wrote  but  briefly 
on  the  same  point.  "  I  found  he  was  not  trustworthy," 
was  a  phrase  which,  under  the  circumstances,  confirmed 
Mr.  Gavney's  fears. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX 

WHAT    MIGHT    HAVE    BEEN    EXPECTED 

I"N  his  youth  it  had  been  the  proud  hope  at  Jack  Talbot's 
home  that  he  would  develop  into  a  man  of  brain. 
Tales  of  him  had  been  told  showing  that  a  veritable 
philosopher  once  slumbered  in  the  makings  of  his  mind. 
One  morning  —  he  was  then  at  the  tender  age  of  seven  — 
the  breakfast  summons  having  already  sounded,  his 
mother  looked  into  his  room  and  beheld  him  sitting  on 
his  bed,  clothed  only  in  one  stocking,  with  the  toe  of  his 
right  foot  hitched  into  the  mouth  of  its  fellow ;  there  he 
sat  lord  of  his  time.  His  name  had  to  be  thrice  called 
before  his  attention  could  be  secured.  "  I'm  finking !  "  he 
explained  then,  and  seemed  quite  prepared  to  "  fink  "  on. 
Nor  did  any  single  or  repeated  routing  cure  him  of  that 
early  propensity  to  think  at  inopportune  hours.  Time 
brought  about  the  cure ;  as  he  put  on  size  and  muscle  it 
became  apparent  that  he  put  off  brain.  Where  these  early 
brains  go  to  is  an  unexplained  phenomenon.  If  ever 
youth  in  the  full  possession  of  good  average  faculties 
deserved  to  be  called  brainless,  it  was  Master  Jack,  when 
each  year  approaching  manhood  seemed  to  remove  the 
quality  of  discretion  further  than  ever  from  his  grasp. 
Forethought  had  effervesced  and  evaporated  from  his 
handsome  skull  in  a  final  effort  of  wit  ingeniously  dis- 
played during  his  first  year  up  at  Oxford.  At  that  seat 
of  learning  all  soberness  left  in  his  senses  had  given  up 

442 


MIGHT    HAVE    BEEN    EXPECTED    443 

the  ghost.  Allowance  was  extended  to  his  youth :  the 
authorities  had  damped  him  down  for  no  more  than  a 
twelvemonth,  but  his  brief  record  hardly  made  them  look 
cordially  for  his  return. 

It  pleased  this  youth  to  consider  that  his  friend,  Tris- 
tram Gavney,  possessed  brain  to  a  degree  that  was  awe- 
inspiring  —  an  actual  drawback  to  equality  of  intercourse. 
"  You  are  so  fearfully  good !  "  was  another  of  his  involun- 
tary certificates  of  character,  an  impediment  he  could  have 
wished  away. 

Jack  Talbot  would  roam  round  to  Tristram's  rooms  at 
all  odd  hours,  and  imbibe  from  him  a  dim  presentment  of 
the  solemnities  of  life.  The  Tramp's  Allegro  held  as 
much  sobriety  as  the  Penseroso  of  his  younger  friend ;  yet 
a  pleasant  froth  blew  off  this  vintage  of  a  light  mind. 
Those  who  were  charged  anxiously  with  the  consideration 
of  his  future  had  to  own  him  lovable.  He  had  a  heart  of 
most  genuine  affection,  and  would  lay  siege  with  meek 
devotion  to  the  door  of  any  friend  he  had  unwittingly 
offended.  His  avoidance  of  his  own  father  was  explained 
with  actual  pathos  by  the  forlorn  youth,  in  moments  when 
he  believed  himself  miserable.  '  The  sight  of  me  puts 
him  in  the  blues,"  said  he.  "  Best  I  can  do  to  make  him 
happy  is  to  keep  out  of  his  way.  It's  what  I  do ;  and  the 
old  boy  hasn't  an  idea  how  I  miss  him !  "  An  experiment 
of  good  conduct  as  a  restorative  to  his  parent's  esteem 
seemed  not  to  occur  to  him. 

He  confided  to  Tristram  one  day  in  gloomy  retrospect, 
that  his  mother  had  met  him  in  tears  when  he  was  sent 
down.  "  As  if  I  could  help  it !  "  he  expostulated.  "  Why 
the  Dickens  should  she  cry  because  the  Dean  couldn't 
take  in  a  joke  ?  I  told  her  that.  But  no,  she  couldn't  look 
at  it  in  that  light ;  thought  it  was  my  doing,  and  said  as 
much,  making  me  feel  myself  a  brute !  At  last  I  had 
to  say  I'd  run  away  if  she  cried  another  tear.     '  Where 


444  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

to?'  she  asked,  not  believing  me  a  bit.  'London,  East 
End !  ?  said  I :  horridest  place  I  could  think  of.  1  meant 
it  too ;  swore  I  did,  though  it  only  made  her  laugh  when 
1  said  so." 

These  dark  shades  and  profundities  of  the  youth's  griefs 
may  help  the  reader  to  a  conception  of  his  character ;  for, 
says  the  philosopher,  "  By  sorrow  you  shall  measure  a 
man."  Here  then  you  have  the  plummet  measurement 
of  one,  and  shall  expect  no  great  tragedies  where  he  is 
concerned. 

Jack  Talbot's  eye  for  all  feminine  charm  was  not  the 
least  lively  of  his  faculties ;  he  wooed  outrageously  what- 
ever was  unobtainable  and  fair.  His  quaint  preference 
was  to  be  at  the  feet  of  one  serenely  happy  in  another's 
claims.  Beauty  wedded  or  betrothed  lured  him  ever 
from  the  less  arduous  quest :  of  the  favoured  kind,  he 
could  sigh  to  six  at  a  time,  and  be  happy  and  unembar- 
rassed in  the  company  of  them  all.  They  laughed  to- 
gether over  him,  with  no  jealousy  or  rivalry  in  their 
hearts ;  to  be  "  one  of  Jack's  sweethearts  "  was  at  least 
a  certificate  of  looks.  His  panting  flight  after  these 
employed  his  days  ;  at  night,  one  may  suppose,  he  had 
the  whole  fair  half-dozen  weaving  him  a  rich  tapestry 
of  dreams. 

Not  that  six  was  the  constant  limit  of  his  mercurial 
passion.  Rounding  the  Park  with  his  friend  he  would 
have  an  eye  on  any  silhouette  that  from  a  distance 
seemed  shapely,  till  a  nearer  view  of  features  should  in- 
form him  whether  or  no  he  were  the  victim  of  love  once 
more. 

The  women  to  whose  charms  he  fell  a  free  victim  did 
him  the  credit  of  being  nice  as  well  as  fair;  employing 
him,  they  kept  him  out  of  scrapes.  He  turned  the  few 
notes  he  received  from  them  inside  out,  to  discover  terms 
of  endearment   therein.      "  But   women   in   love   are   so 


MIGHT    HAVE    BEEN     EXPECTED    445 

cunning,"  said  he;  "  when  they  feel  sweetest,  they  won't 
write  it." 

Tristram  was  forced  to  laugh  out  at  hearing  his  simple 
ways  of  giving  entertainment  to  his  heart.  "  My  belief 
is,"  he  remarked,  "  that  if  one  of  your  pretties  said, 
'  Come  on ! '  you'd  be  off  to  the  North  Pole !  It's  the 
gallop  not  the  goal  you  are  after." 

"  Any  magnet,  so  long  as  it  doesn't  mean  matrimony !  " 
retorted  Jack.  "  Oh,  I  say,  Gavney,  don't  you  think 
monogamy  the  silliest,  selfishest  invention  ever  made  by 
man  r 

Tristram  only  defended  it  on  the  score  of  economy. 
Whereat  —  "  Cold-blooded  chap  you  are  !  "  exclaimed  his 
friend,  "and,  besides  —  no  —  why?  There  are  just  the 
same  number  of  pretty  women  in  the  world  whether  we 
may  marry  them  or  not.  They  all  have  to  be  paid  for 
somehow,  I  suppose ;  there  you  are  then !  "  He  thought 
that  he  had  routed  a  specious  economic  fallacy,  and  let 
his  friend  know  that  his  argument  went  nowhere.  Tris- 
tram was  but  mildly  interested  to  hear  it. 

"  Ah,  well,  wait  till  you  are  in  love,"  said  the  other,  as 
though  love  necessarily  involved  numbers,  and  nodded  a 
weight  of  experience  at  him. 

The  Tramp's  theories  made  him  seem  more  equable 
than  he  was  in  reality.  Two  things  alone  kept  young 
Talbot  from  thinking  him  a  bit  of  a  muff  —  the  strength 
of  his  arm,  and  his  ability  in  the  saddle.  '  You  are 
devilish  deep !  "  said  Master  Jack  at  his  friend's  silence 
when  the  eternal  feminine  became  his  theme ;  and  he 
grew  to  have  a  respect  for  the  other's  mysterious  aloof- 
ness from  the  random  pursuits  of  youth. 

One  morning  in  summer  he  and  Jack  were  trotting  in 
company  down  the  comparatively  empty  Row.  Epsom 
was  the  world's  centre  for  the  day ;  to  meet  acquaintances 
in    the    denuded    metropolis    caused    surprise.      Young 


446  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

Talbot  was  there  for  the  sufficient  reason  that  he  had  no 
pocket  to  take  him  elsewhere.  "  It's  a  plot  of  my  old 
governor's,"  said  he ;  "  he  has  been  keeping  me  short  for 
months  for  fear  I  should  be  saving  up  to  go." 

"  He  might  have  slept  in  peace  over  that  fear,"  said 
Tristram,  who  had  himself  abetted  the  plot,  if  it  were 
so,  by  withholding  a  fresh  loan  till  the  week  following. 
The  empty  aspect  of  town  made  him  also  more  conscious 
of  his  fetters :  he  sighed  to  be  off  over  solitary  golden 
downs ;  crowded  Epsom  was  not  for  him  the  attraction. 

The  day  before  Lady  Petwyn  had  driven  past  him 
with  only  an  abrupt  nod  and  an  off-wave  of  the  hand. 
She  was  up  for  the  races,  and  they  had  not  seen  each 
other  for  months.  He  imagined  she  must  be  in  one  of 
her  adverse  moods  towards  him,  and  bent  on  a  cur- 
mudgeonly display ;  and  without  serious  concern  over 
the  matter,  wondered  what  could  be  his  offence.  It 
occurred  to  him  that,  just  then,  the  change  of  bailiffs 
would  be  taking  place ;  enough,  for  the  nonce,  to  ruffle 
her  against  him.  In  his  own  bosom  also  the  thought 
raised  a  sigh. 

On  his  right  a  young  girl  with  a  groom  came  by  at  a 
foot-pace.  Her  head  averting  as  they  neared,  the  youth 
saw  no  more  than  the  glow  of  a  rounded  cheek.  His 
cursory  glance  was  taken  off  by  sight  of  Captain  Rasselles 
pressing  forward  at  a  smart  trot.  A  busy  nod  of  recogni- 
tion was  thrown  him  ;  "  I'm  on  duty,"  it  seemed  to  say. 
The  Captain  whipped  past. 

A  voice  of  music  sang  out,  "  What,  have  you  not 
gone  to  the  Derby?"  Tristram's  head  swung  after  the 
sound. 

At  the  fair  girl's  side  Rasselles  was  bowing  in  happy 
apology  for  an  unpunctual  meeting.  "  You  don't  look 
half  the  martyr  you've  a  right  to  be!"  she  retorted, 
"  Why  did  you  come?  " 


AUGHT  HAVE  BEEN  EXPECTED  447 

Living  gold  was  the  voice  ! 

The  youth  beheld  a  loose  knot  of  warm  brown  hair 
shaking  its  lights  as  she  threw  her  horse  to  the  gallop. 
Away  they  went  west.  The  sound  of  her  voice  and 
laughter  were  borne  away. 

'  That  was  a  spanker !  "  cried  Jack,  sending  an  amorous 
calf's-head  over  his  shoulder  to  mark  the  receding  form. 
"  And  rides,  doesn't  she  ?  Oh,  ah  !  "  He  whistled  bright 
as  a  bullfinch  on  his  perch.  "  And  what  a  lollipop  of  a 
laugh  she's  got !  " 

The  fast  diminishing  view  of  the  girl's  gay  beauty  left 
him  with  a  robbed  appetite.  "  Oh,  come  on  round !  "  he 
cried.  "  Let's  go  and  meet  them !  Doesn't  Rasselles 
look  the  lucky  dog  all  over?  He  ought  to  introduce 
us." 

Tristram  held  a  like  sentiment  and  wish ;  but  the 
mere  fact  of  random  Jack  voicing  them  kept  him  from 
joining  in  the  chase.  '  You  go !  "  said  he,  with  seeming 
nonchalance.  Off  shot  his  companion,  and  left  him  to 
his  own  thoughts. 

The  perfection  of  a  human  voice  rang  in  his  ears. 
Since  Doris  had  fired  the  heart  of  early  romance  for  him, 
voices  had  been  the  lure  of  his  soul.  He  had  a  presenti- 
ment that  could  he  see  the  face  which  went  with  such 
sounds,  he  would  behold  his  dream,  and  worship  it. 
Scapegrace  Jack,  speeding  to  satisfy  the  lust  of  his  eye, 
kept  him  back ;  hugging  his  ideal  under  the  self-denying 
ordinance,  he  yet  wantoned  in  the  delicate  commotions 
that  seized  his  heart.  It  had  rained  gold  on  him  from 
high  heaven.  Gazing  at  the  blue,  he  let  the  voice  seem 
over  him  like  a  lark's :  rings  of  laughter  and  bubbles  of 
light ;  ay,  a  very  sunbeam  of  sound !  LTp  and  up,  Pegasus 
was  the  steed  who  bore  it  on  ;  the  sun  itself  was  its  goal. 
How  green  stayed  all  the  leaves  of  town  ;  even  at  this 
season  of  dust  and  heat  young  spring  still  seemed  to  be 


448  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

in  them!  And  the  words,  the  words!  were  they  not  to 
him?  '  Have  you  not  gone  to  the  Derby?"  they  cried: 
and,  behold,  he  had  not  gone.  Considering  his  love  of 
horses  it  was  a  marvel.  He  astonished  himself  now  that 
he  had  not ;  he  believed  lie  had  made  promises  to  go  and 
broken  them;  and  hoped  that  a  dozen  were  upbraiding 
him  for  his  breach  of  faith.  Choosing  to  forget  that  the 
main  cause  had  been  benevolent  friendliness  for  Jack, 
doomed  to  stay  up  in  town,  he  hugged  Providence  as  an 
ally  for  keeping  him  there.  And  for  what  ?  Merely  that 
he  might  hear  a  voice ! 

Well,  well!  some  madnesses  are  but  life  in  excess. 
Here  was  youth  exulting  as  youth  will,  drawing  a  new- 
sense  of  eternity  from  the  depths  of  the  heart,  and 
wondering  how  to  apply  it  to  the  actual  hours  that  ran 
by.  The  happy  delirium  lasted  perhaps  to  the  end  of 
that  summer's  day ;  the  memory  of  it  stayed.  He  asked 
neither  Jack  Talbot  nor  Captain  Rasselles  to  give  his 
dream  a  face. 

Two  days  later  Lady  Petwyn  had  left  town  again 
without  once  sending  for  him :  planning  soon  to  lay  fast 
hands  on  him,  she  was  the  more  pleased  just  now  to  affect 
the  cold  shoulder.  Captain  Rasselles  the  lady  had  seen ; 
she  bade  him  bring  report  of  her  favourite's  progress. 
He  had  to  admit  that  he  knew  less  than  she  wished  ;  it 
had  become  difficult  to  keep  under  observation  one  who 
went  everywhere. 

"  Jack  Talbot  has  caught  on  to  him,"  said  the  Captain, 
"  a  well-meaning  lad  so  far  as  he  has  anv  meaning  at 
all ;  but  the  limit  of  his  acquaintances  I  have  failed  vet 
to  discover.  If  a  man  will  lend  him  a  fiver,  he  regards 
him  as  a  friend,  and  claims  his  company  while  spending 
it.  The  consequence  is,  through  him,  your  protege  knows 
a  good  many  more  than  T  know."  He  mentioned  one  or 
two  doubtful  reputations.     "  '  Friends  of  Jack's  '  is  his 


MIGHT    HAVE    BEEN    EXPECTED    449 

word  for  them  when  I  drop  depreciatory  remarks.  He 
has  a  wonderful  notion  that  whatever  happens  to  be 
young  is  also  harmless;  and  I  believe  it's  true  of  himself. 
Like  him  ?  —  who  wouldn't  ?  There's  his  danger ;  too 
many  kinds  take  to  him.  All  the  same  he  has  tact  —  or 
instinct  —  it  comes  to  the  same  thing." 

Lady  Petwyn  declared  that  among  women  he  had  none. 

Captain  Rasselles  said,  "  You  mean  that  he  says  things 
no  one  else  would  ?  He  does  that  with  us,  too ;  it's 
his  gift.  He  mixes  well,  yet  never  seems  to  lose  himself ; 
believes  marvellously  in  his  own  eyes  too  —  they  are 
straight  ones,  I  admit,  and  can  read  character  so  far  as 
knowledge  gives  him  a  reckoning.  Outside  that  he  may 
stray  ;  not  that  I've  ever  seen  him  caught  yet ;  but  of  course 
a  day  will  come  when  he'll  get  taken  in.  Has  he  a  free 
purse  ?  " 

"  He  has  pocket-money,"  said  the  dame. 

"Well,  there's  that  Lord  Argent  Ilkley,  for  one  —  a 
fellow  with  no  interests  but  himself,  and  ambitious  to  have 
follow-my-leader  played  to  him ;  talks  plausibly  too,  and 
has  wit,  which  your  youth  is  fond  of ;  he  seems  to  have  got 
hold  of  him  lately,  I  hear :  and  wherever  he  can  get  a 
laugh,  the  fellow  will  go.  Lord  Argie  gives  it  him,  but 
it's  a  racketty  that  he's  taking  to ;  and  I'd  have  you  see  I 
can't  keep  a  perpetual  net  over  your  butterfly ;  an  eye  on 
him  is  all  I  can  do.    He  looks  fresh  enough  still." 

"  I  saw  him,"  nodded  Lady  Petwyn ;  "  I'm  keeping  out 
of  his  way  just  now  for  certain  reasons.  Has  he,  perad- 
venture,  set  eyes  on  your  charge  any  of  the  few  days  when 
you  had  her  in  safe  conduct?  " 

"  Once,  I  think,"  was  the  Captain's  reckoning. 

"  Did  he  seek  your  company?  " 

"  Not  specially.  Xo,  not  at  all,  as  a  matter  of  fact. 
Was  I  to  have  drawn  him  ?  " 

"  No,  just  to  have  left  him,  as  you  did.     I'm  glad  to 

Z  G 


450  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

know.  I'm  an  old  woman  with  a  theory,  Captain  Ras- 
selles." 

He  asked  that  he  might  hear  it. 

"  That,  their  virtues  running  contrary,  it  is  recoil  brings 
the  sexes  together.  Woman  by  nature  goes  through  her 
unripe  stage,  mellowing  virtuously;  while  man,  like  the 
medlar,  isn't  ripe  till  corruption  has  touched  him.  Adam 
and  Eve  attack  their  apple  from  opposite  sides :  Eve  bites 
through  the  green  to  get  the  red ;  and  Adam  through  the 
red  comes  at  last  to  appreciate  the  green.  Eor  general 
application,  contemplate  the  youth  of  the  two  sexes 
wherever  you  have  it  before  you.  And  preserve  me  from 
having  to  waste  my  time  over  the  freaks  who  make  the 
exceptions !  " 

With  a  serene  confidence  that  the  tonic  she  prescribed 
was  fit  and  right,  Lady  Petwyn  was  contented  to  leave 
Tristram  to  whatever  hands  Fate  might  lay  on  him.  Cap- 
tain Rasselles  had  a  more  male  appreciation  of  the  differ- 
ences which  separated  this  youth  from  the  average  of  his 
contemporaries,  and  held  them  in  generous  respect.  But 
however  he  would  have  liked  to  keep  a  benevolent  hand 
on  him,  it  was  not  in  his  power  now  to  affect  the  event. 
That  Tristram  had  tact,  was,  to  a  man  of  the  world,  his 
surest  safeguard.  When  manners  make  the  man,  Tact 
has  henceforth  become  the  only  sure  guardian  angel  of 
his  soul ;  among  the  virtues  it  stands  as  a  tailor  among 
men. 

Within  a  week  of  the  conversation  just  recorded,  an 
affair  took  place,  under  Lord  Argie's  tutorship,  which  put 
sharply  to  the  test  that  quality  which  Captain  Rasselles 
trusted  him  to  possess. 

Tristram  was  supping  at  the  Hyperion  one  night,  on 
Lord  Argie's  invitation;  a  third  man  failing  to  join  them, 
the  two  had  the  table  to  themselves.  Wherever  Lord 
Argie  feasted  wine  flowed ;  an  unseasoned  head  began 


MIGHT    HAVE    BEEN    EXPECTED    451 

soon  to  feel  at  a  disadvantage  in  the  company  of  that 
trained  diner.  Tristram  followed  his  leader  at  a  respect- 
ful distance,  and  was  occasionally  rallied  for  backward- 
ness. 

"  My  dear  fellow,"  said  Lord  Argie,  "  let  us  keep  our 
glasses  on  bowing  terms.  Where  gentlemen  dine  no  inno- 
vation of  the  Franchise  should  be  permitted.  In  the  days 
of  toasts  equality  was  a  point  of  honour ;  now  the  toast  is 
dying,  and  honour  in  drinking  seems  to  die  with  it.  When 
our  present  Premier  goes,  there  will  be  hardly  a  man  left 
who  knows  even  how  to  propose  a  toast.  It  has  become 
perfunctory,  scarcely  more  than  a  political  expedient.  On 
occasions  of  social  ceremony,  woman  and  wine,  the  two 
great  exalters  of  the  human  heart,  have  become  divorced ; 
actually  we  cause  the  sex  to  withdraw  when  the  proces- 
sion of  the  wine  begins.  Your  guest  mellows ;  you  give 
him  nothing  better  than  a  bottle  to  embrace.  If  you  must 
be  so  niggardly,  the  wine-skin  were  a  better  substitute  for 
the  missing  priestess :  and  we  call  ourselves  a  religious 
nation !  Now,  when  we  have  concluded  this  shorn  cere- 
mony, you  will  allow  me  to  conduct  you  to  the  courses 
that  should  follow ;  here,  to  finish  a  feast  one  has  to  go 
clumsily  from  place  to  place ;  the  ballet  and  the  banquet 
are  no  longer  a  unity ;  nor  in  the  West  is  one  allowed  to 
dine  off  a  bed." 

Lord  Argie's  periods  fell  a  little  flat  on  the  indifferently 
comprehending  youth,  till  wine  helped  him  to  perceive 
their  fun.  Lord  Argie  himself  improved  as  the  meal  ad- 
vanced, and  was  occasionally  humorous,  extracting  loud 
laughter  from  his  guest.  When  the  meal  with  its  many 
courses  was  over  the  two  stood  very  much  on  a  par  — 
sober  in  the  legal  and  strict  sense,  and  capable  of  a  correct 
carriage  —  anything  but  sober  in  the  essential.  The  big 
restaurant  with  its  lights  fizzed  round  the  vounffer  man's 
senses  like  a  charged  beaker  of  champagne ;  its  bubbles 


45^  A    MODERN'      WTAEUS 

blew  into  his  brain;  the  top  of  his  head  felt  like  a  cork 
under  pressure  waiting  to  fly  up. 

His  leader  struck  on  his  hat  with  the  resolute  air  of  a 
man  who  starts  to  the  pursuit  of  pleasure.  By  his  hat  he 
could  have  passed  muster  before  duchesses ;  the  correct- 
ness of  its  slope  was  perfect.  Thus  with  the  sign-proof 
of  sobriety  topping  him,  he  pushed  a  hand  through  Tris- 
tram's arm  and  led  him  out  into  the  street. 

'  Shall  we  drive  ?  Shall  we  walk  ?  What  do  you  say  to 
the  Tarantella?"  were  the  questions  which  he  answered 
to  his  own  liking.  Tristram  was  led  to  the  place  where  to 
suit  the  incoming  fashion  of  spectacular  ballet  the  largest 
number  of  leg-artistes  skipped  nightly.  There  for  an  hour, 
till  fairly  wearied,  he  watched  doll-like  women-athletes  in 
gauzes,  spangles,  and  fleshings,  tilting  and  spinning  to  an 
accompaniment  of  brainless  noise  as  unentertaining  to  the 
ear  as  the  rest  was  to  the  eye :  he  found  neither  virtue  nor 
vice,  nor  human  nature  in  the  thing  to  attract  him.  On 
revealed  anatomy  Lord  Argie  indulged  in  a  string  of  faint 
witticisms  which  helped  to  pass  the  time,  till  at  the  de- 
scent of  the  second  curtain  he  conducted  his  companion 
to  that  nearer  view  for  which  he  had  the  entree. 

Tristram  was  fain  to  admit  that  human  nature  was  not 
lacking  under  the  new  focus.  Behind  its  tawdry  overlay 
of  painting  and  canvas  he  discerned,  not  as  the  machine  it 
had  seemed  from  the  auditorium,  Life,  monstrous  enough, 
but  recognisable. 

The  unceremonious  ways  and  straightforward  looks  of 
these  strutting  sylphs  amused  him;  they  came  naturally 
to  talk,  not  waiting  on  introductions.  A  challenge  of  the 
eye,  and  a  smile,  led  without  affectation  to  converse  as 
sensible  as  the  average  of  a  London  drawing-room.  If 
the  manners  were  free,  the  language  was  clothed  and  re- 
spectable; they  chattered  of  what  interested  them.  Talk 
was  most  easy  to  him  on  those  terms. 


MIGHT    HAVE    BEEN    EXPECTED    453 

One  little  lady,  all  smiles,  toying  with  his  watch-chain, 
and  chattering  half  on  tip-toe  to  his  cravat,  slipped  a  visit- 
ing card  into  his  pocket,  and  was  quite  honest  and  frank 
about  the  action.  "  Now  you've  got  me  next  your  heart," 
said  she,  "  and  '11  know  where  to  turn  when  you  feel 
lonely."  She  told  him  where  she  stood  on  the  stage 
when  the  curtain  went  up,  anxious,  it  would  seem,  to 
shine  professionally  before  him ;  talked  with  a  healthy 
pride  of  her  physical  fitness,  and  let  him  know  the  diet 
which  secured  it.  He  was  genuinely  sorry  when  the 
bell  rang  this  gay  working  little  gymnast  back  to  her 
place. 

"  You7 11  look  out  for  me  ?  "  she  cried,  as  she  flew,  blow- 
ing him  a  kiss. 

He  nodded,  laughing,  and  found  some  small  amusement 
in  tracking  her  out  when  the  gaudy  machinery  of  the 
spectacle  again  met  his  eye.  To  watch  her  at  her  evolu- 
tions gave  him  the  human  element  otherwise  missing. 

He  owned  to  Lord  Argie  as  they  strolled  out  into  the 
streets  again,  that  he  preferred  sense  to  flummery.  "If 
they  must  kick,"  said  he,  "  let  it  be  for  something!  Oh, 
yes,  the  notion  of  decorative  action  is  well  enough,  but  it 
has  to  be  beautiful." 

'  You  sigh  for  beauty?  "  said  his  companion. 

"  And  fun,"  appended  Tristram. 

"  Beauty  and  fun  —  we  call  that  joy,"  said  the  other. 
"  All  the  world  pursues  it.  I,  now,  have  a  thirst.  There 
is  a  delectable  club  that  brews  the  one  liquid  for  which  my 
present  soul  is  yearning.  I  have  the  wanton  thirst  of  a 
well-dined  man  ;  it  requires  coaxing.  Come  and  share  my 
felicity ;  we'll  not  part  yet." 

He  named  the  club  at  which  the  subtle  beverage  was 
concocted.  '  The  Gold-Button  ;  you  have  not  heard  of 
it?  "  he  enquired,  and  displayed  the  passport. 

Tristram  had  not. 


454  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

"  That  is  one  of  its  charms,"  said  Lord  Argie;  "  it  is  so 
little  heard  of.  Few  know  of  it,  so  it  has  not  been  over- 
run ;  just  a  circle  of  its  own,  no  more.  Of  course  a  little 
mixed  in  the,  ah  —  theatrical  direction,  say.  But  very 
passable  indeed,  as  such  things  go.  An  ingenious  old 
crank  named  Tollock  runs  it,  an  adept  at  keeping  inside 
the  ropes ;  legally,  I  believe,  it  can't  be  called  a  club,  and 
therefore,  as  it  is  not  disorderly,  there's  no  loop-hole  for 
outside  interference.  Enter  the  door,  you  are  guest  at  a 
private  house :  I  have  the  privilege  of  extending  an  occa- 
sional invitation  to  a  friend.     Please  me  by  coming !  " 

Tristram  gave  an  indulgent  assent.  "  Oh  yes,"  he 
answered,  seeing  it  was  expected  of  him. 

"  To-night,"  went  on  his  companion,  "  there  is  some 
show  on ;  we  shall  be  just  in  time  for  it.  Tollock's  an  in- 
ventive old  boy ;  one  never  knows  what  he  will  be  up  to. 
The  theatrical  is  his  craze:  I  have  seen  things  there  I 
could  really  laugh  at;  a  little  naughty,  now  and  then,  but 
extremely  nice.  A  couple  of  weeks  ago  there  was  a  good 
idea,  and  capitally  done  —  living  marionettes,  the  notion. 
Droll,  very  droll,  that  was."  lie  went  on  to  give  an  indi- 
cation of  this  last  piece  of  old  Tollock's  ingenuity.  "  They 
come  on,  you  know,"  said  he,  "  with  strings  carefully 
made  visible ;  therein  lies  the  humour.  Ha,  ha !  "  The 
relish  of  comic  happenings  was  traceable  in  his  tones. 
"  Off  they  start  working  by  rote;  cord  jerks,  up  goes  leg 
or  arm  ;  sticks  sometimes,  refusing  to  come  down.  When 
strings  get  mixed  —  that  of  course  is  done  on  purpose  — 
well,  when  they  become  mixed,  they  become  very,  very 
mixed.    Oh,  very  droll  indeed !  " 

He  chuckled  naughtily  at  the  memory. 

Tristram  saw  laughable  possibilities,  and  only  a 
shadowy  degree  of  objection  ;  though  he  had  sense  to 
perceive  that  the  flavour  of  such  farce  might  very  easily 
become  rank.    But  experience,  so  far,  had  not  taught  him 


MIGHT    HAVE    BEEN    EXPECTED    455 

to  be  squeamish ;  he  had  a  friend's  word  for  it  that  the 
thing  was  amusing;  its  humour  seemed  to  cover  such  in- 
discretions as  he  sighted.  Hearing  finally  that  Jack  Tal- 
bot was  to  be  there,  he  was  hearty  in  repeating  his  readi- 
ness to  come. 

"  Hartley  told  me  he  was  bringing  him,"  said  his  com- 
panion ;  "  I  don't  suppose  you'll  meet  any  one  else  you 
know." 

They  were  among  the  late  arrivals,  a  crowd  was  already 
before  them ;  a  bluish  atmosphere  of  smoke,  hot  and  fra- 
grant, noise  of  tongues  and  clatter  of  glasses  filled  the 
chambers  into  which  they  entered.  They  passed  through 
a  supper-room.  "  We  will  take  our  drinks  on  with  us," 
said  Lord  Argie,  securing  bumpers  for  himself  and  his 
companion.  Tristram  looked  round  him ;  his  eye  took  in 
gay  groups ;  it  was  evident  that  here,  at  least,  beauty 
crowned  the  revels  according  to  Lord  Argie's  doctrine  of 
the  true  decorum.  The  brief  sight  was  enough  to  confirm 
vague  premonitory  suspicions.  With  the  actual  fact  star- 
ing at  him,  "  Of  course,  what  else  did  you  expect  ?  "  en- 
quired reason ;  yet  he  had  not  troubled  himself  sufficiently 
to  foresee  the  thing  beforehand. 

In  the  groups  scattered  about  the  room  amid  drinking 
and  smoking,  women's  voices  were  loudest ;  the  harsh 
bursts  of  unmusical  laughter  started  with  them,  and  with 
them  ended ;  they  laughed  imperiously,  commanding  the 
tongues  of  their  hearers  to  obedient  homage  ;  each  unspon- 
taneous  cackle  of  merriment  once  started  was  slow  to  ex- 
haust itself.  Spirits  are  a  genuine  manufacture ;  but  they 
ring  a  little  crudely  in  the  making. 

The  crowd  was  already  setting  towards  the  further 
chamber,  at  the  far  end  of  which  hung  plush  curtains 
covering  a  stage.  Those  who  waited  sat  expectant,  faces 
and  chairs  turned  in  the  one  direction.  Lord  Argie  was 
beginning  to  regard  Tristram  with  a  quizzical  eye;  his 


450  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

colour  was  up ;  there  was  an  interrogating  challenge 
in  his  glance  when  the  other  spoke  to  him.  Sighting 
the  blond  boyish  head  he  liked,  "  I'm  going  over  to  speak 
to  Jack,"  he  said,  and  shook  off  his  companion's  arresting 
hand. 

"  Time  ' '  was  calling  impatiently  from  the  crowd  as 
he  pushed  his  way  forward.  "Hullo,  you  here!"  cried 
Jack  with  an  ingenuous  flush,  beholding  him. 

"  It  seems  I  am,"  said  Tristram  ;  "  and  you?  " 

"  Oh,  I !  "  retorted  Jack,  "  do  I  count?  Here,  sit  down ! 
Is  this  place  new  to  you  ?  'tis  to  me ;  I  came  with  Martley  ; 
seems  queer,  don't  you  think  ?  but  there's  fun  coming,  they 
tell  me.  Ah,  the  lights  are  going  down.  Yes,  but  you, 
Gavney?  well,  I  swear,  I  never  expected  to  see  you  here." 
The  boy  hugged  his  arm  cordially.  Tristram  understood 
that  Jack  was  affectionately  putting  him  down  from  the 
pedestal  he  had  stood  him  on. 

"  Seats !  "  was  called  suddenly ;  a  sighing  of  music  was 
beginning  behind  the  curtain ;  it  rose  and  grew  loud, 
drowning  the  thinning  hubbub  of  voices ;  excitement  be- 
came shrill  in  the  swift  beating  of  its  bars.  Lights  went 
out. 

For  one  moment  the  company  sat  buzzing  in  darkness ; 
then  a  vertical  shaft  of  light  slit  the  pendent  draperies ; 
they  swayed,  parted,  and  disappeared,  disclosing  a  minia- 
ture stage. 

Amid  pops  of  laughter  and  sharp  fizzes  of  applause, 
Tristram  stood  up  to  go.  :<  Sit  down!  "  came  an  object- 
ing cry  from  behind. 

He  stayed  for  one  moment  to  lay  a  hand  on  his  friend's 
arm,  and  spoke  low.    "  Come  out  of  this,  Jack !  "  said  he. 

"  Sit  down,  sit  down  !  "  came  murmurs  from  behind. 

The  other  looked  up  irresolute ;  from  there  to  the  door 
was  a  very  ordeal  to  one  alive  to  the  fear  of  ridicule. 
"  Are  you  really  going?  "  temporised  the  boy. 


MIGHT    HAVE    BEEN     EXPECTED    457 

Tristram's  eyes  widened.  "  I'm  waiting  to,"  he  said 
with  kind  delay,  adding  in  a  bitter  inflection  of  surprise, 
"  Do  you  want  to  stay?  " 

Shame  flew  over  the  boyish  face.  "  Don't  know  that  I 
do,"  he  grumbled.     '  No,  I'll  come  with  you !  " 

He  was  on  his  feet  at  once. 

The  murmurs  behind  were  growing  more  definite. 
Tristram  linked  an  arm  in  his  friend's. 

At  the  door,  from  one  of  a  standing  group,  dulcet  re- 
monstrance met  him.    He  recognised  Lord  Argie's  voice. 

■'  My  dear  fellow,"  exclaimed  that  worthy,  "  what 
means  this  unreasonable  display?  Do  you  really  insist  on 
going?  And  Talbot  too,  Talbot?  What,  both  so  young 
yet  so  inexperienced  !  " 

Tristram  felt  sensitive  youth  beside  him.  "  Tastes  dif- 
fer," said  he;  "if  that  surprises  you,  the  inexperience  must 
be  yours."  He  passed  with  a  cold  salutation  before  Lord 
Argie's  sneer  could  fit  itself  to  words. 

Jack  Talbot  swore  softly  to  himself,  to  be  helped 
through  the  unpleasantness  of  his  singularly  enforced  re- 
treat. Laughter  behind  him  shot  stings  into  his  flesh. 
Scarcely  noticed,  in  fact,  he  believed  that  all  eyes  were  at 
him  ;  that  the  whole  air  was  charged  with  laughter  for  the 
same  cause. 

"  Oh,  damn  you,  Gavney !  "  he  cried,  for  audible  relief 
to  his  ridiculed  sensations,  so  soon  as  thev  were  well 
through.    His  companion  hurried  him  on. 

In  the  street  he  beheld  a  white  face ;  Tristram  rocked 
bodily  against  him  for  support.  Initiative  and  virtue  had 
gone  out  of  him ;  he  hung  a  quavering  lip,  and  stared  at 
pavement  and  sky.  '  Yes,  yes,"  he  muttered,  ready  to  as- 
sent to  anything  his  friend  might  say.  His  chest  fought 
for  one  big  breath  of  air ;  the  relief  of  a  clean  atmosphere 
swept  over  his  swimming  brain.  "  Jack !  "  he  shuddered, 
'  Jack !  "  showing  a  strange  aspect  then  to  the  friend  he 


458  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

had  led  captive.  "  You  were  a  good  chap  to  come  with 
me !  "  was  what  he  got  out  at  last. 

'  Was  I  ?  "  queried  the  other,  amiably  surprised.  "  You 
didn't  give  me  much  choice !  " 

"  You   were "    Tristram's   grasp   tightened   upon 

his  arm  to  feel  that  he  had  him  still,  "  just  something 

clean  to  catch  hold  of.     Ah  ! "     His  voice  sounded 

the  depression  of  his  soul :  "  Dear  fellow !  "  it  came  back 
to,  for  a  refrain. 

That  was  all  very  well ;  there  was  yet  the  march  home  to 
be  done.  Jack  was  frank  in  warning  him  of  the  difficulty. 
"  Hold  on  to  me !  "  he  cried,  beholding  the  advance  of  a 
seductive  figure.     "  I'm  a  cork  waiting  to  go  pop !  " 

The  combustible  nature  of  the  creature  showed  no 
diminution  as  they  advanced.  A  distressing  inability  to 
let  well  alone  took  hold  of  him  and  sent  him  off  on  the 
retrospective  tack ;  wavering  unsteadiness  began  to  mark 
his  retreat.  It  was  as  though  Joseph,  after  virtuous  flight, 
should  have  begun  to  enquire  —  "  I  wonder  what  she  is 
doing  now  with  my  coat !  "  and  should  in  spirit  have  ago- 
nised for  a  peep  back  through  the  key-hole. 

Saints  can  tell  of  the  danger  of  flight  conducted  on 
such  lines.  Naughtiness  of  mind  fast  turned  ill-con- 
ducted retreat  into  a  demoralised  rout.  Tristram  found 
presently  that  there  was  no  holding  the  volatile  youth  to 
his  side.  The  streets  seemed  to  be  perilously  charged  with 
attractive  material.  At  sight  of  it  Jack  blew  and  puffed, 
becoming  marvellously  discomposed  when  night-fashion- 
able pavements  had  to  be  crossed. 

Tristram  from  habit  pulled  whenever  a  contrary  tug 
reminded  him  that  he  had  in  charge  a  will  other  than  his 
own ;  otherwise  cloud  fell  over  his  consciousness,  he 
thought  more  of  himself.  There  settled  on  his  brain  a 
steady  exasperation  lending  heat  to  his  blood ;  a  vague 
sense  urged  him  to  walk  and  walk  for  remedy  to  the  driv- 


MIGHT    HAVE    BEEN    EXPECTED    459 

ing  tumult  within.  "Jack,  Jack!"  he  cried  admonishingly, 
as  that  youth's  comments  on  passing  faces  became  more 
and  more  caressing  in  tone.  He  was  whipping  his  head 
this  way  and  that;  almost  any  object  now  struck  him  as 
sweet. 

"  By  George !  that's  a  pretty  filly !  "  was  presently  his 
cry.  He  swung  round :  saw  a  laughing  eye  look  back  at 
him. 

Where  wealth  and  poverty  touch  so  closely  on  the  bor- 
ders of  Soho,  Tristram  found  himself  standing  solitary ; 
bitter  reflections  were  left  to  him  over  his  evening's  work. 
He  was  well  rebuked  for  his  pains ;  virtue  in  town  was,  it 
appeared,  ridiculously  out  of  place. 

Standing  under  the  shadow  of  an  arcade  he  felt  a  hand 
laid  on  his  arm ;  timidly  it  seemed.  A  girl  addressed  to 
him  a  few  words  with  a  queer  catch  of  breath.  Voice  and 
face  were  pleasant,  half-familiar,  too ;  abundant  fair  hair 
shadowed  the  features  toward  which  he  gazed.  She  grew 
bashful  under  his  eye. 

Strange  natural  little  petition  coming  in  the  roar  of 
great  London's  streets :  she  had  but  asked  him  for  a  kiss. 

In  the  darkness  of  a  small  chamber  high  up  on  a  dimly 
lighted  stair,  the  fragrance  of  flowers  brought  memory  to 
Tristram.  So  charged  was  the  air  with  sweetness  that  it 
seemed  to  caress  his  face  on  entering.  He  looked  at  his 
companion  with  more  attention ;  was  London  after  all  so 
small  ? 

In  the  gloom  he  saw  a  large  basket  stacked  with  white 
blossom  standing  under  a  bare  window-sill.  The  girl  was 
closing  the  door  when  with  a  quick  gesture  he  stayed  her. 
and  said  in  haste,  "  You  have  had  a  bad  day ;  you  haven't 
sold  your  flowers  ?  " 

It  was  true.  Upset  and  damage  had  befallen  them 
earlier  in  the  day.     Even  at  night  when  their  defects 


460  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

shewed  less  visibly,  they  had  failed  to  find  a  market. 
"  Clove  pinks,  most  on  'em/'  said  she.  '  If  they  gets 
messed  they  looks  brnised-like.  and  there's  no  freshness 
in  'em.  It's  no  use  washing  'em,  they  never  looks  the 
same." 

For  all  that  Tristram  deelared  himself  a  belated  pur- 
chaser; his  tone  was  constrained  and  implausible.  She 
struck  a  light,  and  stolidly  lifted  the  basket  for  him  to 
view  the  ruin.  '  Don't  say  I  sold  'em  to  yer  in  the  dark." 
she  said,  with  a  sort  of  incredulous  indifference  in  her 
tone.    "  How  many  d'yer  suppose  yer  want?  " 

To  the  poor  girl  in  search  of  her  capital  amount,  such 
small  custom  as  he  was  seeming  to  offer  was  of  little  value 
at  the  present  hour  of  the  market.  Tristram  picked  out  a 
bunch.     "  This  will  do,"  he  said. 

The  coin  that  touched  her  palm  caused  her  to  send  a 
quick  look  up  to  his  face ;  it  seemed  unbelievable  munifi- 
cence.   And  she  saw  him  preparing  to  go. 

"  Oh,  yer  be  good  ;  yer  be  good !  "  she  cried,  and  caught 
his  hand.  He  laughed  rather  coldly.  '  There,  there,  you 
can  get  your  pick  in  Covent  Garden  to-morrow,"  he  said, 
and  nodded,  wishing  to  be  gone. 

Recognising  him,  her  eye  became  illumined.  "  Ah  then, 
it  is  you  !  I  thought  how  'twas  like  yer  ;  but  yer  wasn't  so 
dressed  up  then."  She  breathed  her  wonder,  and  raised 
a  bashful  look  on  him.  "  O  Lor' !  Yer  be  a  good  friend, 
yer  be  ;  and  you  a  gentleman  !  "  It  was  the  old  wonder  of 
Polly  Tilt  under  like  circumstances  ;  but  this  girl  was  no 
longer  asking  to  be  kissed.  "  Oh,  sir,"  she  cried,  "  sir!  " 
and  shook  her  head,  unable  to  speak ;  she  drew  in  her  lips, 
hanging  an  ashamed  countenance  over  a  breast  that 
heaved ;  looking  anywhere  but  at  him  now. 

Tristram  held  her  hand  ;  a  slight  frown  showed  specu- 
lation in  his  mind.  Suddenly  he  flushed  and  turned 
about.      "  Good-night !  "    he    called    abruptly,    and    in 


MIGHT    HAVE    BEEN    EXPECTED    461 

another  moment  was  making  a  determined  exit  down  the 
stairs. 

When  he  found  himself  once  more  in  the  street,  his 
thoughts  found  expression  in  no  pleasant  laughter. 
Casual  charity  seemed  to  him  the  very  meanest  protec- 
tion to  extend  to  a  woman  whose  daily  chance  was  the 
earning  of  a  few  shillings  to  stand  between  her  and 
an  outcast's  lot.  The  act  bore  to  him  the  taint  of  hypoc- 
risy ;  no  high  consciousness  of  virtue  carried  him  on  his 
way. 

Traversing  the  quieter  West-End  streets  where  traffic 
was  now  grown  scant,  he  marked  a  cab  draw  up  a  few 
doors  ahead  of  him,  and  a  well-attired  damsel  preparing  to 
dismount.  A  corner  of  her  finery  became  entangled  in 
the  step  as  she  was  about  to  spring.  Feeling  herself  go- 
ing, "  Catch  me!  "  she  cried,  and  fell  into  the  arms  of  a 
charming  youth. 

Decidedly  charming  she  thought  him,  realising  that 
she  was  safe.  '  I  beg  your  pardon !  "  and,  "  Oh,  thank 
you  so  much !  "  she  fluttered,  hanging  elaborately  upon 
his  arm  to  recover  breath.  Thus  situated,  she  smelled 
a  sweet  fragrance,  and  beheld  white  flowers  beneath  her 
nostrils. 

'  What,  were  these  for  me  ?  "  she  exclaimed  with  de- 
lightful laughter.  "  Have  you  waited  long?  "  She  made 
no  pause  for  his  answer.  '  Here,"  she  cried,  "  wait  one 
moment  while  I  get  out  my  key.  Will  you  pay  the  cab 
for  me?  " 

Tristram  performed  her  bidding,  and  returned  with 
hands  empty.  "  So  many  thanks,"  she  said  again,  seeing 
that  the  thing  was  done.  ;<  Now,  I  suppose  you  won't 
come  in?  " 

Her  sprightly  laughter  belied  the  incredulous  speech. 
'  Why,  wherever  are  the  flowers  gone  to  ?  "  was  the  quick 
exclamation  that  followed. 


462  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

The  cab  was  then  pursuing  its  way  toward  the  far  end 
of  the  street.  Tristram  spoke  "no  word  of  the  flowers' 
whereabouts. 

The  lady  of  the  latch-key  stood  looking  at  him  with 
pleasant  eyes. 


CHAPTER   XL 


THE    WOMAN    ON    THE   ROAD 


T  7"ERY  dutifully  Tristram  fulfilled  the  obligations  of 
his  majority,  and  received  his  father's  quiet  thanks 
when  documents  were  signed.  London  was  the  scene  of 
their  meeting.  '  It  is  hardly  a  matter  for  thanks,"  said 
the  young  man  coldly,  too  conscious  of  compulsion  to 
wish  for  any  gracing  of  the  act. 

'  It  should  not  be,"  retorted  Air.  Gavney ;  "  but  I  have 
to  thank  for  what  most  fathers  take  as  granted.  My  son 
has  not  always  seen  that  advantage  and  duty  lay  to- 
gether." 

Tristram  accepted  the  reproach  and  spoke  openly. 
Having  resigned  so  much,  he  asked  now  to  be  released : 
mere  freedom  for  himself  was  the  payment  he  begged. 
His  voice  was  uncompromising  and  cold.  So  obstinate  a 
recurrence  to  old  folly  seemed  to  Mr.  Gavney  a  graceless 
effrontery  put  on  merely  to  annoy.  He  requested  to  be 
told  what  fine  plans  his  son  had  for  shaping  his  own 
future. 

"  None,"  said  Tristram  curtly.  "  At  present  my  only 
wish  is  to  be  home  again,  and  away  from  London." 

His  face  wore  the  weary  look  brought  on  by  wasted 
hours ;  but  his  wear  of  mind  was  greater  than  the  wear  of 
body,  which  was  now  making  him  wish  to  return  home. 

"  You  forget,  perhaps,"  objected  Mr.  Gavney,  "  that 

463 


464  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

your  reputation  there  does  not  stand  high.  You  have  no 
other  proposal  to  offer  ?  " 

"  Except  to  leave  the  country,"  said  Tristram,  stung  to 
bitterness.  "  I  might  go  out  and  join  Raymond  :  he  would 
have  me,  in  spite  of  what  you  call  my  reputation,  I 
fancy." 

'  I  should  be  sorry,"  replied  his  father,  "  to  let  Mr. 
Hannam  hear  that  I  had  assented  to  any  such  proposal. 
To  send  you  to  his  son !  I  wonder  you  can  name  it ;  it 
shames  me  to  speak  of  you  to  him  after  the  division  you 
were  instrumental  in  bringing  about.  I  beg  you  not  to 
speak  of  it.  It  is  for  that  reason  that  I  refuse  to  have  you 
living  at  home  for  the  present :  the  disgrace  you  have  been 
the  cause  of  is  too  flagrant,  too  recent ;  I  will  not  seem  to 
countenance  you.  Your  poor  mother,  however,  wishes  to 
see  you ;  the  thought  of  you  is  a  perpetual  sorrow  to  her ; 
in  a  month's  time,  T  have  said,  you  may  come  down  for  a 
week  or  so.  I  shall  be  away  then ;  Mr.  Hannam  also.  I 
trust  that  in  my  absence  you  will  be  able  to  behave  your- 
self. But  you  have  yet  to  earn  your  reinstatement  under 
my  roof.  You  may  atone  for,  you  cannot  obliterate,  the 
past.  As  for  your  breaking  with  the  present  arrangement, 
remember  that  my  word  has  been  pledged  for  you,  that 
you  are  not  free  for  another  year.  Perhaps  you  care  little 
for  that !    You  cause  me  to  speak  bitterly,  my  son." 

Mr.  Gavney,  blind  to  the  subtler  elements  of  his  son's 
malady  of  body  and  soul,  saw  enough  to  cause  sharp 
trouble  to  a  heart  not  devoid  of  paternal  feeling.  The 
sight  made  him  raise  higher  the  voice  of  authority :  he  be- 
came dictatorial :  his  son  had  at  least  to  understand  that 
he  ruled  under  his  own  roof :  the  froward  young  man  was 
not  to  imagine  that  independence  awaited  him  there. 

Tristram  listened,  but  would  make  no  promises,  his 
silence,  though  unlike  him,  seemed  to  indicate  the  rebel- 
lious spirit;  and  his  father  began  to  think  it  might  be 


THE    WOMAN    ON    THE    ROAD       465 

very  well  that  he  should  be  with  his  mother  for  a  while ; 
experience  taught  him  to  hope  that  her  weak  words  might 
have  more  effect  than  all  the  wisdom  he  could  utter. 

Mrs.  Gavney  was  ready  to  confirm  his  belief.  "  Send 
him  to  me,"  she  said,  when  her  husband's  report  reached 
her,  and  began  counting  the  days  till  she  could  have 
the  prodigal  in  her  arms  and  work  her  gentle  will  with 
him. 

Her  conquest  was  destined  to  be  easy ;  she  had  no 
longer  to  fight  that  high  belief  in  himself  which  had  been 
Tristram's  bulwark  of  old.  The  understanding  that  he 
had  sacrificed  his  natural  birthright  had  at  last  entered 
like  iron  into  his  soul ;  and  had  found  there  the  wreck  of 
his  youth's  pride ;  and  the  last  act  of  it  had  been  this  sign- 
ing away  of  his  freedom  without  any  previous  bargaining 
for  his  own  release  to  follow.  He  was  generously  reluc- 
tant to  press  his  claim  over  a  monetary  transaction ; 
moreover,  for  all  his  bitterness,  he  was  now  humble  about 
himself,  and  had,  as  he  told  his  father,  no  plans  at  all ; 
nor  did  he  understand  how  fatally  that  fact  had  helped 
him  to  his  overthrow. 

His  silence  under  his  father's  reproaches  had  meant, 
not  opposition,  but  submission  to  the  demands  made  on 
him ;  yet  the  surrender  threw  him  back  in  the  worst  mood 
of  all  to  the  conditions  from  which  he  was  struggling  to 
escape. 

A  couple  of  weeks  later  a  letter  from  Lady  Petwyn 
came  to  revive  hopes  he  had  long  since  let  go.  '  So," 
wrote  the  old  dame,  steadfast  in  following  her  purpose, 
"  you  still  prefer  London  to  Cob's  Hole  as  a  solution  of 
the  housing  question  ?  And  the  East  End  and  its  Dockers 
are  a  connection  that  fall  in  sufficiently  with  your  moral 
notions?  Truly  you  have  strained  at  a  needle's  eye 
and  swallowed  a  camel ;  I  trust  it  may  bring  you  to 
Heaven." 

2  H 


466  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

She  sent  him  late  greetings  on  the  attainment  of  his 
majority,  and  after  her  customary  flick  of  compliments, 
that  strove  to  sting,  made  a  renewal  of  her  old  offer.  In 
true  Elizabethan  character,  the  pecuniary  side  of  her  pro- 
posal was  reduced  to  well-nigh  niggardly  proportions. 
After  a  mischievous  generosity  to  him,  spread  over  recent 
months,  she  chose  now  sourly  to  test  him :  let  him  know 
bluntly  that  bets  and  some  still  more  foolish  extrava- 
gances of  the  last  year  had  crippled  her  resources,  and 
that  those  who  took  service  with  her  must  share  the  con- 
sequences. "  Do  just  as  you  like  about  the  matter!  "  she 
finished  abruptly,  and  branched  away  into  other  topics. 
She  omitted  to  tell  him  that  Cob's  Hole  was  about  to 
undergo  a  visitation  from  the  sanitary  inspector,  without 
much  likelihood  of  passing  the  very  lenient  official  stand- 
ard. Her  anxiety  was  to  get  hold  of  him  before  sub- 
mission to  his  quixotic  conditions  should  be  forced  on 
her  from  outside ;  and  she  understood  him  well  enough 
to  guess  that  the  diminished  salary,  as  explained  by  her, 
would  rather  help  than  otherwise  to  draw  him  into  her 
net.  Anyway,  it  pleased  her  spiteful  old  heart  to  indulge 
in  that  snap  of  the  purse-strings.  Like  the  Cumaean 
Sibyl  when  driving  the  superb  Tarquin  to  a  harder  bar- 
gain, she  was  willing  for  Tristram  to  feel  that  procrasti- 
nation had  not  meant  worldly  wisdom. 

The  poor  fellow  was  in  the  mood  to  be  her  bond-servant 
for  the  merest  pittance;  her  comparison  of  London  to 
Cob's  Hole,  just  then,  seemed  to  shatter  the  purist  objec- 
tions which  had  once  stood  between  them. 

He  answered  gratefully  and  wrote  plainly  of  the  offer 
to  his  father;  having  a  plan  now,  he  was  urgent  in 
renewing  his  petition.  Mr.  Gavney  in  reply  spoke  scorn- 
fully of  MacAllister's  shoes ;  hardly  fit  standing  for  a 
gentleman,  he  thought,  and  wondered  that  Lady  Petwyn 
should  propose  it.     The  same  letter  gave  a  date  for  his 


THE    WOMAN    ON    THE    ROAD       467 

son's  home-coming;  fear  of  this  threatening  prospect 
made  it  immediate. 

Three  days  later,  the  hour  of  dusk  brought  Tristram  to 
his  journey's  end.  As  he  stood  in  the  doorway  there 
came  through  the  hall  the  quick  flutter  of  raiment ;  a 
bright  running  laugh  greeted  him,  and  he  saw  Marcia's 
face  flying  towards  him  with  welcoming  eyes.  "  My 
Trampy !  "  was  her  cry. 

With  a  sudden  inward  pain  he  caught  up  her  hands 
fearfully,  and  held  them  between  his  lips  and  hers. 
"  Don't,  don't  kiss  me,"  he  said ;  adding,  to  appease  the 
beautiful  trouble  of  her  eyes,  "Marcia,  dearest,"  and  let 
her  arms  go  round  him  then. 

Her  face  was  still  straining  for  his :  "  Not  kiss  you, 
Trampy?  oh,  why?"  she  asked  tremulously,  and  taking 
hold  of  his  hands,  with  the  fondling  demonstrativeness 
which  belonged  to  her  when  stirred,  drew  them  in  an 
embrace  about  her  cheeks.  "  My  Trampy,  my  own 
Trampy,"  she  cried,  holding  him  fast. 

He  put  her  gently  back  from  him  at  arm's  length,  and 
fondly  regarded  her.  u  How  beautiful  you  are,"  he  ex- 
claimed, "  and  to  think  that  it's  only  a  year !  " 

She  laughed  troubled :  "  What  compliment  is  that  to 
the  Marcia  you  left  behind,  —  or  to  me  now,  if  you  won't 
even  kiss  me !  " 

:'  I  do,  I  do !  "  he  cried,  caressing  her  hands. 

She  took  possession  of  him ;  and  turning  him  to  the 
light,  she  asked,  "  Are  you  ill,  then  ?  "  and  beholding  him, 
cried  suddenly,  "You  are!"  Her  voice  became  tender 
and  compassionate.    "  111,  ill !    Oh,  my  poor  Tris  !  " 

He  could  not  bear  it :  breaking  from  her  scrutiny, 
"  How  is  mother  ?  "  he  asked ;  of  the  rest  he  left  Marcia 
to  give  news  as  she  chose. 

She  told  him  their  mother's  door  would  be  open  to  him 
whenever  he  went  up ;  he  heard  that  no  one  else  was  in  the 


468  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

house.  Bitterly  his  mind  welcomed  the  repose  which  his 
coming  had  secured.  "  Oh,  holiday !  "  he  murmured,  and 
smiled  to  let  her  know  it  was  she  he  meant. 

Marcia  said:  "I  shall  be  on  the  cubby-room  hearth- 
rug when  you  come  down." 

'  Then  we'll  be  twins  ?  "  he  answered.     They  squeezed 
hands  as  they  parted.     Tristram  went  upstairs. 

His  mother's  room  was  darkened,  save  for  firelight, 
when  he  entered.  Soft  aromatic  warmth  greeted  him, 
awaking  childish  memories.  The  very  carpet  that  he 
trod  seemed  to  say  "  hush,"  reminding  him  to  be  gentle 
in  this  place.  He  crossed  to  where  he  knew  she  would 
be  lying,  and  whispered  "  Mother !  "  for  her  to  hear. 
'  My  boy !  "  she  murmured,  "  my  boy !  " 

It  was  the  old  form  of  greeting  that  she  kept  for  him. 

The  young  man  knelt  down,  letting  his  brow  be  taken 
to  her  lips.  '  Mother  me !  "  said  he ;  and  was  like  a  child 
on  her  breast.  Comforting  his  face  against  her  hands 
much  as  Marcia  had  done  when  his  kiss  had  been  re- 
fused her,  he  began  almost  babbling  for  good  news  of 
her  health. 

She  said  less  than  an  invalid  might ;  her  mind  seemed 
pre-occupied  with  other  things.    Stroking  his  head  where 
it  lay  in  her  lap  with  hands  whose  touch  seemed  to  plead : 
'  Have  you  come  back  to  disappoint  us  all  ?  "  she  said. 

He  knew  whose  word  was  between  them  then. 

'  I  don't  know,"  he  replied,  "  why  you  should  be  dis- 
appointed.    Can  I  help  wanting  to  come  back  ?  " 
1  You  can  please  your  father,  if  you  wish." 

"  Not  in  everything." 

"  But  in  this,"  she  urged. 

"  Oh,  mother,"  he  sighed,  "  all  I  want  is  a  little  peace! 
give  it  me,  give  it  me !  I  have  only  come  to  you  for  that." 

He  wondered  whether  after  all  to  go  right  away  would 
not  be  best.     These  two  hearts  of  home  did  not  divine 


THE    WOMAN    ON    THE    ROAD       469 

what  sudden  reproaches  they  started  upon  him  now.  To 
put  out  three  months  of  his  life  he  needed  a  new  world, 
a  new  birth.  Marcia's  beloved  face  reaching  up  to  him 
to  be  kissed,  had  shown  him  suddenly  the  unlooked-for 
barriers ;  before  that  moment  he  had  not  guessed  what 
they  would  be.  He  laid  his  face  against  his  mother's 
knees  and  prayed  without  words  —  prayed  that  one  little 
portion  of  his  life  might  be  swept  away,  for  it  was  not 
his :  he  could  swear  it  was  not  his !  Convulsively  his 
breath  heaved,  giving  out  no  sound.  He  had  come  back 
to  the  hearts  of  love  only  to  find  agony  there. 

Mrs.  Gavney's  secluded,  almost  lonely  existence  had 
made  her  mind  a  harbour  of  retrospect :  her  memory  of 
the  child  that  had  been  was  fuller  than  her  knowledge  of 
the  young  man  now  laying  his  head  for  balm  against  her 
breast.  But  his  way  of  showing  the  fondness  he  had  for 
her  —  a  sort  of  wooing  reverence  with  ever  an  under 
current  of  play  —  had  encouraged  her  from  early  days  to 
retain  that  right  which  some  mothers  have  to  resign. 

When  she  put  to  him  one  of  those  individual  questions 
which  she,  only,  might  ask,  which  had  once  or  twice  in 
his  life  come  to  him  from  her,  sacredly  requiring  a  re- 
sponse, he  was  tenderly  quick  to  admit  the  claim ;  he 
had  even  expected  it  to  be  made. 

He  waited ;  the  question  came :  "  Have  you  been  good, 
my  dear?  "  and  he  answered  it:  "  No,  mother,  not  very." 

Then  there  was  silence,  only  faintly  broken  at  last  by 
her  sigh,  as  she  gathered  up  courage  to  speak  a  firmer 
word,  since  on  her  heart  he  had  in  confession  laid  the 
sacrifice  of  his  pride. 

It  was  not  to  be  then.  Though  no  other  word  was 
spoken,  he  saw  what  request  would  come,  and  could  not 
bear  it  then.  He  rose  quietly  to  his  feet.  "  May  I  go 
down  now  ? "  he  asked,  waited  to  receive  her  assent, 
pressed  his  cheek  to  hers,  and  went  out,  knowing  in  his 


47o  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

heart  that  he  must  grant  it  later,  since  in  all  the  world 
no  hand  was  so  strong  over  him  as  hers ;  once  it  might 
have  been  Marcia's :  it  was  his  mother's  now  —  because 
he  had  lost  his  pride. 

He  and  Marcia,  when  dinner  was  over,  returned  to  his 
room  for  the  "  hearthrug  evening "  they  had  promised 
themselves.  "  Let  us  have  only  firelight !  "  said  Tristram, 
seeing  that  the  hearth's  welcome  had  been  prepared  for 
them,  though  the  windows  lay  opened  wide  to  the  late 
September  air. 

He  approached  to  put  out  the  lamp.  Marcia,  watching 
him  as  he  stooped  his  head  under  its  rays,  cried:  "  Tris- 
tram, you  are  grey !  "  She  parted  the  wave  over  his  left 
temple,  and  drew  out  a  hair  to  witness  the  truth. 

"  And  there  are  more !  "  she  said. 

"  You  may  have  them  all,"  he  answered.  "  Keep  them 
to  remind  you  of  your  twin-that-was  ;  —  not  lost  but  gone 
before.    You  see  I'm  the  first  of  us  to  age." 

Some  sadness  in  his  tones  set  Marcia  hankering. 
"  Trampy,  you  have  a  grief,  and  you  won't  tell  it  me." 

"  Grief  enough,  Marcia.  Here  am  I  for  no  more  than 
a  week.    All  the  more  let  us  be  happy  to-night !  " 

But  happiness  was  hardly  to  be  the  note  of  this  first 
meeting,  grateful  though  they  were  to  be  together  once 
more. 

"  Ah !  "  Marcia  said.  "  And  it  was  I  helped  to  send 
you  away.  You  are  letting  the  sight  of  you  reproach  me 
now ;  yet  I  thought  I  did  right."  She  closed  with  him, 
crying:  "  I  take  back  what  I  said,  dearest,  then.  Do  you 
—  do  you  feel  bound?" 

He  hesitated:  did  he  feel  bound?  No.  Yet  he  would 
bind  himself,  he  knew. 

She  pressed  her  meaning  upon  him,  saying:  "Don't 
listen  to  me  now,  or  anybody  ;  choose  for  yourself !  That 
is  right  sometimes." 


THE    WOMAN    ON    THE    ROAD       471 

He  shook  his  head :  doubt  of  himself  in  the  last  months 
had  come  to  be  his  familiar ;  strange  opposite  to  his  state 
a  year  ago. 

"  What  has  altered  your  mind,  Marcia?"  he  enquired. 
"  That  used  not  to  be  easy." 

He  was  the  reason  of  her  change.  "  Do  you  like 
London,  so  much,  then,  yourself?"  she  said,  eyeing  him. 

He  kept  in  his  heart  the  cry,  "  Do  I  like  sackcloth  and 
ashes,  and  dead-sea  apples !  " 

She  recurred  then  to  her  thought  that  he  must  be  ill, 
and  pressed  him  to  own  it. 

"  I  don't  know,  dear,"  he  said.  "  Old  age !  it's  a  mere 
feeling  and  may  pass.  Let  us  leave  off  talking  about  me ! 
You,  Marcia,  what  have  you  done?  you  are  altered  too. 
Is  nobody  in  love  with  you  yet?  You  talk  always  of  this 
Harry  of  yours  now ;  but  she  is  a  girl.  WThen  shall  I 
see  her?  " 

"  Just  now  she  is  away  at  Portruddock  with  Lady 
Petwyn.  Yes,  Trampy,  you  will  have  to  be  friends  with 
her ;  she's  my  very  great  one.  Think !  I  even  have  my 
days  of  liking  Lady  Petwyn  because  of  her.  We  talk 
often  of  you  too ;  ah !  and  I've  heard  things  from  her ;  all 
nice  ones,  I  mean." 

"  Oh,  have  you  ?    And  where  does  she  get  them  from  ?  " 

"  Happens  to  have  been  over  your  ground,  my  Tris, 
being  in  Lady  Petwyn's  hands.  She  told  me  about  you 
and  Lady  Tetheridge,  and  the  pug,  and  the  bull." 

"  Cow,"  Tristram  corrected  her. 

"  Well,  and  the  cow-boy,  then ;  oh,  much  more  than 
you  ever  told  me.  And  to  think  of  you  very  nearly  laying 
down  your  life  for  a  wretched  pug !  " 

"  No ;  but  to  die  a  cow-boy !  "  said  Tristram,  as  though 
that  were  a  thing  he  could  still  heartily  wish. 

"  I  couldn't  have  forgiven  you,"  declared  Marcia. 

"  I  could  myself !  "  he  all  but  sighed.     "  After  all,  one 


472  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

can  forgive  one's  self  most  things  —  up  to  a  certain  age ; 
not  after." 

"  Most  things,  not  some,"  said  Marcia.  '  They  stick, 
for  no  reason  that  one  can  see ;  and  yet  one  wouldn't  have 
them  away.  Oh,  one  I  would !  and  yet  that  wasn't  my 
fault.  But  it  seems  as  if  it  was !  ''  Her  eyes  looked  back 
on  tragedy. 

"  Anything  I  know?  "  asked  Tristram. 

"  No,"  said  Marcia ;  "  it  was  after  you  went.  Aunt 
Julia  did  the  deed ;  and  is  ignorant  about  it  to  this  day, 
I  imagine !  " 

She  told  the  story.     It  is  here,  as  Tristram  heard  it. 

"I  was  out  with  her  one  morning,"  said  Marcia,  "  along 
the  Pitchley  Road,  at  the  bottom  of  the  hill  where  the 
turnpike  used  to  be.  We  met  a  woman  coming  along, 
decent-looking,  but  very  shabby  and  threadbare.  She 
wasn't  interesting  ;  just  the  dull-faced,  hard-working  sort ; 
grind  more  than  poverty  was  what  marked  her.  She 
stopped  us  ;  I  thought  at  first  to  beg ;  it  was  to  ask  whether 
she  could  find  any  work  about  here  —  odd  jobs  of  needle- 
work, or  anything,  she  didn't  care  what.  She  talked  in 
a  listless  way,  dead-beat ;  one  could  see  from  the  dust  on 
her  clothes  that  she  had  come  a  good  distance,  and  she 
had  a  way  of  pulling  herself  up  and  falling  together 
again,  that  meant  genuine  weariness  trying  to  keep  up 
an  appearance. 

"  Well,  I  felt  sure  that  Aunt  Julia  knew  of  nothing,  and 
wasn't  likely  to  offer  her  any  work  herself;  and  yet  in  a 
sort  of  sham  benevolent  way  she  began  talking  to  that 
woman,  and  got  at  who  she  was,  and  where  she  had  come 
from,  and  the  rest  of  it.  She  was  a  soldier's  wife,  she 
told  us,  off  the  strength,  and  his  regiment  had  gone  out 
to  Malta  or  somewhere ;  it  was  the  usual  sort  of  thing,  she 
had  to  make  a  living  for  herself  while  he  was  away.  She 
mentioned  Chiltham  as  the  place  where  he  had  last  been 


THE    WOMAN    OX    THE    ROAD       473 

quartered.  '  Oh,'  said  Aunt  Julia,  '  I  used  to  stay  there !  ' 
and  began  talking  of  all  the  officers'  wives  she  had  known, 
quite  brisk,  and  chattery,  and  condescending ;  you  know 
that  manner  of  hers.  I  suppose  she  imagined  she  was 
showing  interest  in  the  woman's  story.  Anyway  she 
began  presently  naming  this  person  and  that  person,  and 
gossiping  about  them,  and  the  woman  either  knew  them 
or  knew  of  them ;  said  she  had  worked  for  one  or  two, 
before  the  regiment  went  away  in  which  she  was  known. 
It  was  quite  a  genuine-sounding  story,  and  no  begging 
in  it.  And  there  went  Aunt  Julia  with  — '  Then  I  sup- 
pose you  knew  Mrs.  So-and-So?'  or  '  Was  Colonel  So- 
and-So's  family  still  there?'  and  '  How  many  have  they 
now  ? '  all  questions  of  that  sort.  And  the  woman  went 
on  nodding,  and  got  quite  cheery  and  interested,  and 
quick  in  her  answers ;  and  all  the  time  one  could  see  the 
sort  of  natural  expectation  she  had  that  something  was 
to  come  of  it.  I  suppose  we  were  there  a  good  five 
minutes,  with  Aunt  Julia  drawing  the  woman  out,  and 
getting  her  to  talk ;  and  while  it  went  on,  I  just  had 
to  stand  and  say  nothing.  /  had  no  money  myself ;  there 
was  nothing  I  could  say,  nothing  I  could  do,  to  put  an 
end  to  it. 

"I  began  to  think  at  last  that  Aunt  Julia  was  really 
trying  to  find  out  her  character  before  giving  her  some- 
thing to  do,  or  that  she  had  some  one  in  her  mind  to  send 
her  to.  Five  minutes!  my  dear  Tris ;  and  then,  in  her 
prim,  quick  way  of  collecting  herself  when  she  finds  she 
has  been  wasting  time,  Aunt  Julia  gives  her  a  friendly 
nod,  and  says,  '  Well,  you  seem  to  have  known  some  very 
nice  people,  and  I  hope  you  will  get  something  to  do  soon. 
Good-day  to  you  !  ' 

"  That  was  the  end ;  we  dismissed  the  interruption  and 
resumed  our  course ;  I  never  felt  so  like  the  scum  of  the 
earth  as  I  did  then.     All  the  way  up  that  long  hill  Aunt 


474  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

Julia  talked  of  Chiltham  people,  and  things,  continuing 
her  reminiscences.  As  I  listened,  her  dense  complaisance 
over  the  thing  was  I  think  what  crushed  me  most;  my 
back  burned  as  though  I  were  being  morally  branded;  I 
would  rather  die  than  repeat  that  sensation ! 

"  It  takes — how  long  to  get  up  that  hill?  Ten  minutes, 
I  might  have  said  once ;  a  year  I  think  now.  At  the  top 
of  it  —  what  moved  me  I  don't  know  —  I  turned  and 
looked  back. 

"  Trampy,  there  was  that  woman  standing  where  we 
had  left  her,  looking  at  us,  looking  at  us  still!  And  I 
feel  as  though  she  stood  there  now,  had  stood  there  ever 
since,  and  would  go  on  standing  there  for  ever !  " 

"  Oh,  my  aunt !  "  said  Tristram  in  brief  tones :  emphatic 
showing  of  his  mind. 

He  gave  a  slight  shudder,  and  added  in  a  much  more 
moved  voice. 

"  Marcia,  one  half  of  civilisation  is  like  that  woman 
standing  in  the  road." 


CHAPTER  XLI 

A    LETTER    FROM     A    DEAD     HAND 

IV/TR.  GAVNEY'S  announcement  of  his  early  return 
was  the  unargumentative  way  he  chose  to  indicate 
the  time  for  his  son's  visit  to  terminate.  He  found  it 
easier  to  be  firm  from  a  distance  with  his  offending  off- 
spring, who  had  quick  ways  of  the  tongue,  which  in 
conversation  left  him  at  a  disadvantage. 

Tristram  saw  the  letter  first  in  his  mother's  hands ; 
she  gave  him  its  contents,  saying  afterwards,  '  Then 
the  day  after  to-morrow  my  boy  goes  back  to  his  work  ?  " 
It  was  spoken  simply,  with  as  little  interrogation  showing 
as  possible. 

Tristram  answered,  "  Do  not  trouble  yourself ;  I 
promise  I  will  make  room  for  him,  mother."  She  let 
that  appear  a  full  settlement  of  the  question  between  them. 
Kissing  him  she  said,  "  You  are  no  trouble  to  me,  my 
dear ;  I  trust  you  will  never  be  that.     If  you  would  only 

come  to  me  sooner  sometimes "     She  paused,  and 

added  softly,  "  My  boy  and  I  understand  each  other,  do 
we  not  ?  " 

He  evaded  an  answer,  saying  with  much  fondness,  "  I 
understand  what  you  wish,  mother."    It  left  her  satisfied. 

He  was  intent  then  on  a  long-delayed  visit,  and  spoke 
of  being  out  for  the  rest  of  that  day.  A  wish  to  see  his 
old  Sage  once  more,  and  to  avoid  for  a  few  hours  his 
Aunt  Julia  on  her  return,  gave  him  a  double  motive  for 

475 


476  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

absence.  Marcia,  hearing  what  he  proposed,  told  him 
he  might  find  the  dear  old  man  unable  to  receive  him ; 
she  had  heard  rumours,  though  they  were  but  vague. 
Tristram  said,  "  I  must  see  him !  "  and  went  off,  even  at 
the  risk  of  a  fruitless  errand. 

A  sudden  desire  had  seized  him  to  have  the  old  man's 
hands  on  his  head  before  he  went  back  to  town.  He 
wished  to  take  with  him,  if  go  he  must,  all  the  blessing 
that  was  possible :  utterly  without  trust  in  himself,  his 
dependence  was  on  others  now.  London  to  his  thoughts 
spelled  fiery  failure ;  his  weakness  and  his  strength  lay  in 
the  contact  of  his  fellows.  Here,  at  home,  he  shuddered 
to  think  into  what  a  gulf  that  weakness  had  brought  him 
down  ;  yet  he  dreaded  that  his  shuddering  was  but  a  pass- 
ing fit  and  soon  to  be  over. 

Marcia  had  forewarned  him  truly.  '  You  must  not 
see  him,"  he  was  told  in  answer  to  his  petition.  For  a 
long  time  he  held  out,  declaring,  "  But  T  must !  Does  he 
not  remember  me?"  he  asked.  The  faithful  housekeeper 
said,  "  He  talks  of  you  sometimes."  '  If  he  saw  me, 
then  ?  "  She  shook  her  head.  "  You  would  be  a  stranger," 
she  told  him. 

That  struck  cold  to  his  heart. 

He  saw  finally  that  he  must  accept  her  ruling,  and 
begged  only  one  favour.  "  Mention  me  to  him,"  he  said. 
"  Say  that  I  have  been ;  '  the  Tramp,'  call  me.  T  wanted 
him  to  give  me  his  blessing  —  want  it  still,  if  he  will  send 
it.  He  does  not  remember,  perhaps,  that  just  a  month  ago 
—  he  always  told  me  I  was  to  come  and  see  him  then  —  I 
came  of  age.  He  said  he  had  a  message  for  me ;  and  T 
think  he  would  remember  it.  Remind  him  also  of  my 
aunt,  my  Aunt  Doris,  Miss  Foley ;  you  saw  her  once.  He 
was  very  fond  of  her,  I  think." 

'  Your  aunt  ?  "  said  the  good  lady.  "  Yes ;  I  believe 
he  quite  loved  her ;  her  portrait  is  in  his  room  now." 


A    LETTER    FROM    A    DEAD    HAND    477 

''Oh,  my  love  to  him!"  cried  Tristram,  fetching  a 
breath. 

Very  late  indeed  he  returned  home  that  night.  Steady 
rain  had  been  on  him  for  hours  as  he  tramped,  striving 
to  work  off  the  despondency  that  oppressed  him.  Utterly 
fatigued,  he  crept  into  the  house,  fit  only  for  bed  and 
oblivion  to  cover  him. 

He  was  surprised  to  hear  sounds  of  movement  still 
about  the  house.  It  was  then  close  on  one  o'clock.  In 
the  passage  he  met  a  grey  swathed  figure  bearing  a 
candle,  and  recognised  his  Aunt  Julia  in  dressing-gown 
and  capless.  She  gave  him  a  witheringly  cold  greeting. 
"  You  keep  your  old  hours,"  she  said  to  him. 

'  They  seem  to  have  infected  you,  my  dear  aunt,"  was 
the  retort  which  relieved  him  of  her  presence. 

Marcia  coming  on  him  at  the  stairhead  explained 
matters.  She  seemed  relieved  to  see  him,  saying  in  soft 
haste,  "The  poor  little  mother:  no  danger,  only  great 
pain.     It  is  her  head.     She  has  been  asking  for  you." 

"  Oh !  "  cried  Tristram,  with  a  pang  of  self-reproach 
for  being  absent.      '  Has  she  wanted  me  for  long  ?  " 

"  Some  hours  ago  she  asked  for  you  first ;  go  very 
softly." 

'  I  met  Aunt  Julia  just  now,"  said  Tristram. 

Marcia  nodded.  '  Yes ;  she  does  no  good ;  she  has 
been  talking,  and  of  course,  sourly,  about  you.  The 
mother  wants  you  to  comfort  her." 

Tristram  slipped  noiselessly  into  his  mother's  room. 
He  heard  her  moan,  and  knelt  down  by  the  bed,  laying 
cool  hands  on  her.  The  dear  head  lay  like  fire  in  his 
touch. 

A  sigh  of  relief  shivered  to  him,  "  Tristram  ?  "  said  a 
whisper. 

He  answered  "  Yes,"  hushing  her  not  to  speak.  But 
still  she  said,  "  You  ?  —  you  ?  " 


478  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

"  It  is  I,  little  mother,"  he  answered. 

"  Ah,    I   thought "      Pain   ended  the   attempt   to 

speak. 

"  Don't  think,  don't  think,  dear  head,  until  I've  cured 
you,"  he  pleaded. 

"  You  can,"  she  whispered  back  to  him.  :'  So  late, 
my  dear,"  was  presently  sighed.  Yes,  Julia  had  been 
talking. 

"  You  hurt  yourself  if  you  speak,"  he  said.  "  Don't 
try  to !  " 

"  You  hurt  me,"  she  said,  "  so  long  away ;  I  wondered 

"     Dim  thoughts  of  him  a  runaway  from  duty  had 

entered  her  brain.  To  resolve  the  matter  she  said,  "  To- 
morrow, dear,  you  go  ?  " 

He  said,  "  Yes." 

"  You  will  ?  to  please  your  father  ?  " 

"  I  will  to  please  you !  "  he  sighed,  and  bowed  his  head 
to  her  pillow,  that  he  might  feel  how  near  she  was  to  him, 
as  he  sealed  up  another  year  of  his  life  to  give  comfort  to 
her  heart. 

She  was  quiet  at  once,  submitting  to  the  soothing  touch 
he  laid  on  her.  He  had  still  that  virtue,  and  began  to 
know  it  now.  The  pain  shot  into  him ;  he  received  it  from 
her.  More,  let  more  come!  He  welcomed  it,  knowing 
that  the  longed-for  relief  must  be  coming  now.  '  Poor 
mother,  was  this  what  you  were  bearing?"  thought  he, 
to  steady  himself  to  the  task,  and  closed  his  eyes  for  utter 
darkness  to  be  his  help. 

Shocks  like  the  beating  of  red-hot  hammers  went  from 
back  to  front  of  his  brain.  Her  voice  rewarded  him  at 
last:  "You  are  doing  me  good,"  she  said. 

He  knew  by  her  tone  that  there  was  more  pain  to  come. 

It  was  to  be  the  emptying  of  a  fire  from  one  brazier 
to  another.  Presently  he  could  no  longer  move  his 
hands ;  they  dragged  and  lay  passive.  "  I  am  much 
better,"  she  said. 


A    LETTER    FROM    A    DEAD    HAND    479 

Yes,  he  knew  that :  no  answer  came  from  him.  Silence 
flowed  over  the  couch  inviting  sleep  to  one.  After  a  while 
there  was  a  slight  sound  in  the  room.  Marcia  had  re- 
turned.    She  came  and  leaned  over  the  bed. 

"  She  is  asleep,"  was  the  welcome  word  that  presently 
fell  to  Tristram's  ear. 

His  hands  dropped  away ;  he  turned  to  rise.  ''  Marcia," 
he  whispered,  "  Marcia !  help  me,  I  am  quite  blind !  " 

She  saw  him  lift  a  drawn  face ;  quickly  her  arms  were 
round  him ;  he  got  to  his  feet,  staggering.  Then  she  said 
no  further  word,  but  took  him  up  bodily  and  carried  him 
to  his  room. 

''  She  was  suffering  this,"  he  smiled  as  she  laid  him 
down.  Marcia  would  have  done  more  for  him.  "  Go, 
go !  "  said  he ;  "  it  will  pass  ;  then  I  can  undress."  So  he 
lay,  waiting  for  time  to  bring  a  sensible  decrease  to  the 
strain,  heedless  altogether  of  wet  clothes  chilling  upon 
his  limbs,  while  in  his  brain  raged  that  fire. 

A  very  dread  of  giving  in  sent  him  early  up  to  town 
the  next  day  :  to  break  down  at  the  last  would  seem  indeed 
a  pitiful  begging  off.  If  he  were  to  be  ill,  he  thought, 
he  might  as  well  be  ill  there  where  nobody  need  know. 
He  would  not  have  his  father  come  upon  him  so.  In 
certain  directions,  it  seemed  that  he  still  had  his  pride. 
His  old  trick  of  hating  to  be  thought  ill,  was  as  strong  in 
him  as  ever. 

At  home  they  had  no  letters  from  him  for  three  weeks ; 
when  he  wrote,  it  was  briefly,  giving  little  news.  Marcia, 
looking  at  his  handwriting,  said,  "  He  is  not  well."  It 
was  the  one  sign  of  his  state  that  Tristram  could  not 
conceal ;  the  fact  that  he  wrote  from  the  private  ward  of 
a  hospital  was  never  guessed.  Those  who  expected  him 
in  the  city  and  at  the  West  End  believed  he  was  taking 
holiday,  till  in  the  beginning  of  November  he  reappeared. 
He  seemed  then  to  have  been  anywhere  but  at  health 


480  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

resorts,  and  his  superiors,  noting  with  what  flagging 
energy  he  applied  himself  to  work,  drew  their  own  con- 
clusions. At  a  later  date,  that  month's  absence  from 
lodging  and  office  counted  for  something  in  those  black- 
book  reckonings  of  him  which  were  soon  to  follow. 

Obstinate  pride,  of  that  physical  sort  which  was  still 
left  to  him,  made  Tristram  slow  to  admit  that  he  was 
suffering  from  anything  but  a  tardy  recovery  from  illness. 
It  was  the  fault  of  town  that  he  could  not  get  back 
his  strength,  he  told  himself.  The  delusion  could  not 
last. 

"I  feel  ill  through  and  through,"  he  owned,  when  finally 
he  sought  medical  advice. 

"  You  are,"  was  the  doctor's  practical  summing-up  and 
verdict  after  examining  him :  he  spoke  definitely. 

Tristram  had  to  face  stern  facts.  The  doctor  was 
urgent  in  counselling  him  to  quit  London  for  a  time  and 
return  to  his  home.  Alas !  however  much  he  wished  it, 
that  was  the  one  thing  he  could  not  do.  The  mood  that 
had  brought  him  in  sickness  back  to  town  made  him  feel 
now  that  to  return  invalided  to  the  home  that  did  not  wel- 
come him,  would  be  ignominy.  Moreover  —  there  was  no 
moreover  —  outlook  became  obstructed.  Dark  doubt 
troubled  his  brain :  bitter  enough  were  the  thoughts  that 
came  to  him,  but  they  brought  with  them  no  plans  for 
the  future. 

Out  of  them  grew  features  he  could  not  mistake :  he 
saw  how  one  by  one  the  foundations  of  his  independence 
had  been  struck  away.  The  bondage  into  which  he  had 
fallen  was  entering  to  become  part  of  his  flesh.  Could 
he  even  say  much  longer  that  he  possessed  limbs  and  a 
brain  that  were  truly  his  own?  Was  his  body  his  own? 
Did  he  possess  it  now  ?  The  question  tormented  him.  It 
had  been  his,  and  again  it  had  not  been.  Could  he  resume 
what  he  had  once  let  go ;  or  was  this  the  secret  of  his  fate : 


A    LETTER    FROM    A    DEAD    HAND    481 

the  Evil  Chance  so  long  evaded,  come  face  to  face  with 
him  at  last  ?  Was  "  No !  "  to  be  the  sudden  and  final 
answer  to  all  the  eager  interrogations  of  his  blood? 

"But  others!"  He  cried  out  against  the  injustice, 
looking  round  him  on  the  life  of  associates  on  whom  no 
such  thing  as  this  seemed  to  fall.  "Others!"  echoed 
back  at  him  from  the  hollow  of  his  own  heart.  "  Do  you 
come  now,  only  now,  to  claim  fellowship  with  them  ?  " 

He  did  not.  Passionately  his  soul  cried  out  for  solitude, 
for  the  breath  and  space  for  over  a  year  denied  to  him ; 
that  he  had  not  known  while,  about  his  life,  had  spun  the 
pleasant  coil  of  acquaintance,  so  far  removed  from  fellow- 
ship itself.  Anywhere,  anywhere !  the  aspiration  filled  his 
heart,  bidding  him  escape  from  bricks,  and  mortar,  and 
crowds ;  and  thin  and  bloodless  and  cold  seemed  the  mere 
word  that  held  him  back.  Nay,  did  not  the  medical  advice 
he  had  received  free  him  from  that?  He  recognised  its 
force  as  giving  him  release,  not  its  direction :  he  could 
not,  he  told  himself,  go  home.  Where  then?  And  as  in 
certain  moods,  anywhere  to  a  man  comes  in  effect  to  mean 
a  somewhere  very  much  defined  —  to  the  Devil,  for  in- 
stance —  so  with  Tristram,  anywhere  grew  to  have  a 
pointed  meaning  of  its  own  —  not  to  the  Devil  this  time ; 
flesh  and  spirit  were  very  sick  of  him. 

While  in  this  mood  two  missives  reached  him,  not  with- 
out import  concealed  or  expressed,  though  tardy  over  the 
errand  they  were  set  to  perform.  The  one  was  from  Lady 
Petwyn,  announcing  herself  up  in  town,  with  more  cir- 
cumstance than  usual,  prepared  to  keep  open  house,  and 
to  give  entertainment  to  her  world.  Tristram,  apparently 
restored  to  favour,  was  bidden  to  present  himself  with 
speed. 

The  other :  he  opened  a  letter  covering  enclosures.  It 
was  from  the  housekeeper  of  his  old  Sage,  to  say  how 
tardily,  though  not  through  any  negligence  of  hers,  his 

Z  I 


482  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

message  had  been  delivered,  bringing  him  at  last  these. 
What  were  they?  A  line  in  the  crippled  handwriting  of 
age,  showing  intellect  worn  thin  after  honourable  toil ;  yet 
in  the  childish  sentences  manifesting  a  tender  remem- 
brance of  him.  "  From  your  Aunt  Doris  with  her  love, 
to  be  yours  the  day  you  become  a  man,"  were  the  words 
which  took  him  to  the  inmost  sanctuary  of  all.  Deep 
blue-eyed  regards  from  the  happy  spaces  of  infancy 
seemed  on  him  as  he  broke  that  seal. 

"  My  Trampy,"  were  the  first  words  that  met  his  eyes, 
making  them  blind.  He  kissed  before  he  could  read  on ; 
and  became  a  child  again,  in  love  for  the  dear  hand  that 
had  sent  him  remembrance  from  so  far  away.  It  was  her- 
self ;  every  word  brought  her  back  to  him  ;  not  dead  —  liv- 
ing, she  gave  him  her  love  for  the  day  which  was  to  make 
him  his  own  master,  and  a  man.  "  A  good  man,"  said  her 
faith  in  him,  having  waited  all  these  years  to  reach  its 
goal.  Could  it  but  have  come  sooner !  A  simple  thing  to 
cry.  It  was  grievous  coming  to  him  now.  She  looking 
ahead,  loved  and  believed  in  him.  '  My  Trampy,"  she 
wrote,  more  than  once,  as  though  to  catch  back  to  her 
heart  its  dear  grown  fellow  whom  years  were  to  have 
made  so  little  strange. 

This  was  one  of  the  things  she  wrote :  "  I  never  found 
your  heart  difficult  to  read ;  your  very  secrets  used  to  look 
at  me  out  of  your  eyes,  so  that  I  have  had  to  look  away, 
and  pretend  that  I  did  not  know  them.  That  was  difficult 
sometimes.  Sweetheart,  that  has  been  a  pleasure,  to  think 
that  years  hence  there  will  be  a  man  with  those  same  eyes 
which  I  am  not  to  see  again  ;  and  yet  do  see.  I  carried 
them  away  with  me  here,  to  the  south  of  France.  Will 
my  Trampy  remember  me  as  well  as  I  see  him  fourteen 
years  from  now  ?  I  loved  him ;  oh,  well ;  let  him  be  sure 
of  that !  " 

Remember  her!     It  was  only  yesterday:  oh,  gulf  of 


A    LETTER    FROM    A    DEAD    HAND    483 

time  never  to  be  crossed !  Had  such  keen  memory  com- 
fort in  it  now  ? 

Again  she  wrote :  "  You  made  me  happy ;  all  day  I  had 
reason  to  be  grateful  to  you  since  I  learned  this  —  the 
knowledge  that  I  write  under  now  —  that  I  have  not  long 
to  live.  I  cannot  tell  you  how  it  is :  you,  by  loving  me  so 
much,  taught  me  to  be  brave :  I  feel  that  I  do  not  lose 
you  when  I  lose  other  things ;  I  hold  you  now,  my 
Trampy,  do  I  not?  We  were  little  lovers,  my  dear,  you 
and  I." 

Yes,  she  held  him ;  if  tears  were  the  answer  to  that. 
His  heart  cried  out  for  want  of  her.  Let  her  speak,  even 
to  reproach,  and  not  cease  speaking,  if  she  could  do  any 
good  to  him  now  ! 

Yes ;  there  also  her  hand  was  on  him ;  she  knew  him 
well,  had  foreseen  danger  clearly  in  that  nature  which 
gambolled  so  joyously  at  her  side,  which  she  loved  so; 
and  out  of  so  much  knowledge  had  trusted  —  alas,  too 
much :  "  a  good  man,"  she  believed  that !  He  bowed  his 
head  under  it  as  though  to  some  awful  charge  covering 
him  with  shame.  It  was  not  a  long  letter ;  but  it  took  him 
long  to  read.  She  wrote  of  the  money  that  would  be  his. 
"  Yours,  to  be  used  freely  and  well ;  I  trust  you.  You  are 
to  be  yourself.  If  you  have  kept  your  tastes  simple  it 
gives  you  the  means.  My  Trampy  is  to  feel  that  his  old 
sweetheart  sends  him  this  because  she  trusts  him.  Live 
free,  dear  heart,  and  you  will  not  live  ill.  I  have  foreseen 
that  in  you."  Her  message  to  him  lay  there.  This  from 
the  dear  dead  hand  smote  a  blow  upon  his  heart. 

Tristram  laid  the  letter  down.  What  wisdom  lay  in  its 
love !  Who  else,  then,  had  spoken  over  him  sentence  of 
death?  Who  said  now,  And  may  God  have  mercy  on 
your  soul? 

His  soul?  It  stood  up  like  an  apparition  before  him, 
clearly  defined  now,  and  wearing  the  hues  of  death. 


CHAPTER  XLII 

LADY    PETWYN'S    EXPERIMENT 

ADY  PETWYN,  sighting  Tristram  over  a  crowd  of 
heads,  spoke  sharply  to  the  friend  at  her  side. 

"  Which  of  you  has  been  spoiling  my  boy  ?  " 

Captain  Rasselles  had  not  then  seen  him.  "  We  all 
do,"  he  answered,  "  when  we  get  the  chance.  Is  he  in 
town?  " 

Her  eye  stonily  fixed,  and  a  directing  nod,  told  that  she 
had  her  quarry  in  view. 

The  Captain's  eye  fell  on  Tristram  as  he  approached : 
"Ah,  no!"  he  was  quick  to  retract;  "not  our  doing, 
that !  "  He  had  seen  men  go  under  fire  with  that  sort  of 
face :  men  cold  and  conscious  of  their  risk,  with  no  shout 
of  battle  in  their  hearts. 

'  So  here  you  are !  "  spoke  up  Lady  Petwyn.  "  Well, 
you  come  quick  at  call,  I'll  say  that  for  you.  Anything 
wrong?  " 

Tristram  was  trained  now,  and  could  answer  directly 
and  with  ease.    "  Am  I  so  off  colour  ?    I  have  a  cold." 

"  That,  with  you,  counts  as  a  portent."  returned  the 
lady.  '  You  used  to  spend  the  days  of  your  youth  run- 
ning about  and  trying  to  catch  one." 

'  Youth,  then,  has  accomplished  its  end,"  said  Tristram. 
'  I  am  growing  up,  you  see.     Rasselles  need  no  longer 
despair  of  me." 

Lady  Petwyn's  duties  as  hostess  carried  her  away. 

484 


LADY    PETWYN'S     EXPERIMENT    485 

"  I  thought  you  must  be  out  of  town,"  said  the  Captain 
when  they  were  alone ;  "'  where  have  you  been  hiding 
these  last  months  ?  " 

"  Chiefly  in  the  Underground,"  answered  Tristram, 
"  that's  where  I  am  morning  and  evening.  Punctuality 
is  the  thief  of  time ;  but  in  the  city  the  thief  sets  the  fash- 
ion. There  I  arrive  feeling  myself  robbed,  and  am  re- 
garded as  a  reformed  character.  Xo,  I'm  in  the  Park  no 
mornings  at  all  now !  Jack  Talbot's  up  at  Oxford  again, 
making  virtue  easier  for  me." 

"  Expect  no  long  respite  then,"  said  Captain  Rasselles, 
"  Jack  at  Oxford,  from  all  I  hear,  is  the  same  as  Jack  in 
town."  He  gave  samples.  "  Catapulting  a  blank  wall 
with  soda-water  bottles  is  his  very  latest,  I  hear:  one 
burst  over  the  Dean's  head,  making  him  run  for  his  life. 
Jack's  window  was  not  spotted  then,  but  the  engine  is 
there ;  and  he  has  select  parties  before  whom  he  exhibits, 
hoping  to  set  a  fashion  in  playthings  which  will  subject  all 
the  quads  to  internal  bombardment.  The  catapult  will 
have  him  presently.     Prepare  to  receive  the  projectile!  " 

While  the  Captain  talked,  Tristram  smiled,  but  his  at- 
tention was  not  fixed.  The  air  buzzed  with  the  chatter  of 
a  polite  crowd :  through  it  rippled  laughter ;  seldom  did 
any  distinct  words  carry  that  a  listener's  ear  might  take 
up.  Toward  the  din  Tristram's  head  kept  turning  with 
an  alert  movement,  as  though  his  mind  were  with  the 
crowd  at  his  back.  Rasselles,  noticing  it,  stopped  to  ask, 
"  Are  you  expecting  anybody?  " 

He  apologised,  saying,  "  No ;  I  thought  I  heard  a 
voice." 

"  Several,  I  should  imagine !  " 

"  One  that  I  have  heard  before."  His  face  brightened. 
"  There !  and  she  laughs !  "  he  cried  at  the  confirming 
sound. 

"  Oh,  susceptible  youth !  "     The  Captain  rallied  him, 


486  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

but  became  serious  to  say.    "  Own  up  that  you  have  been 
ill,  my  dear  fellow ;  or  your  looks  will  be  on  my  nerves." 

"  I  have,"  said  Tristram ;  "  I'm  well  again,  but  I  haven't 
my  new  skin  on,  that  is  all." 

His  hostess  came  and  led  him  away  to  introductions. 
"  You  don't  come  here  to  talk  to  the  people  you  know," 
she  said,  and  kept  him  employed.  He  was  useful  in  gath- 
ering's where  people  talk  to  pass  the  time,  having  learned 
the  trick  of  light  chatter,  a  few  removes  from  foolishness, 
which  society  calls  interesting. 

Half-an-hour  later  Lady  Petwyn  had  her  hand  on  him 
again.  Resting  her  full  weight  she  was  able  almost  to 
disguise  the  limp  which,  unsupported,  passed  now  and 
then  into  contortion  ;  therefore  she  loved  strong  arms. 
Rasselles  and  Tristram  had  both  learned  to  stand  negli- 
gently under  the  pressure  she  put  on  them. 

She  led  him  towards  a  corner  whence  came  bright  talk 
and  laughter.  "  Harriet  Jane,  turn  yourself  and  be  en- 
tertained !  "  cried  the  Dame,  with  a  slight  flourish  of  tone 
to  a  knot  of  luxuriant  tresses.  Tristram's  countenance 
wore  a  singular  look ;  his  eyes  grew  keen.  Round  came  a 
sweet  face,  lively  with  smiles ;  rogue  eyes  glanced  from 
Lady  Petwyn  to  Tristram,  and  back  again.  As  though 
to  inward  admonition,  they  became  grave  abruptly  —  too 
honest  to  be  demure. 

"  Miss  Ferring,  Mr.  Tristram  Gavney,"  they  were  cere- 
moniously named  to  each  other,  and  straightway  left  alone. 

"  Then  it  was  you !  "  said  Tristram,  without  pause, 
eager  to  draw  speech  from  the  mouth  that  waited  to  smile 
on  him  once  more. 

"  Yes,  you've  heard  of  me?    I  am  Marcia's  friend." 

"  I  did  not  mean  that.    I  heard  your  voice." 

"My  voice?" 

"  Long  ago  ;  this  summer ;  in  the  Park.  '  Have  you  not 
gone  to  the  Derby  ? '  was  what  I  heard  you  say.  It  was 
Captain  Rasselles  you  spoke  to." 


LADY     PETWYN'S     EXPERIMENT    487 

"And  you  remembered  —  my  voice?"  Rogue  eyes 
looked  at  him  again.    Oh,  the  fair  face  she  had! 

Blunt  speech  was  Tristram's  once  more ;  it  was  the  boy 
again  that  spoke.  '  You  had  gone  by  then ;  I  only  saw 
your  back."    His  looks  said  the  rest. 

"  And  you  did  not  remember  my  back?  " 

"  Yes,  I  did."  Tristram's  eye  dwelt  on  the  warm 
masses  of  hair  that  waved  low  over  the  bend  of  a  high 
brow.  "  But  I  remembered  your  voice  more ;  and  I  have 
been  hearing  it  all  this  evening !  " 

"  Yes,  I  do  chatter,"  she  made  excuse. 

"  Do  now !  "  he  begged. 

"  What  about  ?  " 

Tristram  could  have  cried,  "  About  yourself !  " 

"  About  Marcia,"  he  said  instead ;  "  have  you  news  of 
her  for  me? " 

There  was  a  ready  response :  "  I  have  messages.  She 
knew  I  should  be  seeing  you  —  at  least,  if  you  were  in 
town." 

"  If  I  were  in  town  ?  "  repeated  Tristram.  "  Where 
else  could  she  think  I  would  be  ?  " 

"  You  have  written  to  her  very  little :  she  thinks  you 
may  be  away,  or  ill.  I  was  to  tell  her  if  you  were  looking 
ill ;  but  how  can  I,  when  I  have  never  seen  you  looking 
well."  She  eyed  him  in  some  doubt.  "  Are  you  not  look- 
ing ill  ?  "  she  asked. 

'  Londony,'  you  mav  say.    What  else  were  you  to  tell 
her?" 

The  fair  girl  laughed.  "  Two  very  special  things ;  but 
it  is  too  soon  to  say  them." 

"  Not  if  they  were  messages." 

*'  They  were  to  be  to  her,  not  to  you." 

"  It  will  give  me  something  to  write  about.  Let  me 
send  them.     They  were ?" 

Ah,  rogue  eyes,  honest  eyes!     Beautiful  Harriet  Jane 


488  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

said,  "  It  is  Marcia,  and  you  know  her :  how  she  hugs  all 
she  gets  hold  of.  Well,  I  was  to  meet  you ;  then  I  was  to 
let  her  know  —  did  I  like  you,  and  did  you  like  me !  How 
much,  etc.,  was  to  come  after." 

'  Now !  "  said  Tristram,  "  that  is  something  to  write 
about !  —  I  mean  for  me.    Marcia  shall  hear !  " 

'  Don't  write  more  than  your  own  share!  "  said  Harriet 
Jane,  looking  at  him  with  friendly  eyes. 

Easy  it  was  for  Tristram  to  forget  himself,  to  believe 
he  was  happy,  to  become  gay,  with  one  so  beautiful  and 
kind  to  talk  to.  Oh  !  beauty  and  kindness  were  not  all ; 
nor  yet  the  voice,  though  the  charm  of  it  drew  him  on. 

She  was  a  woman  to  know7 :  it  seemed  he  did  know  her. 
Six  months  ago  his  presentiment  had  been  right ;  to-night 
she  appeared,  and  straightway  she  filled  the  place  of  his 
dream.  Strange  how  on  the  same  day  these  two  things 
should  have  happened.  In  the  morning  Doris's  word  had 
reached  him  ;  in  the  evening  her  sister-spirit  had  come, 
promising,  if  eyes  told  truth,  henceforth  to  be  his  friend. 

Behind  those  eyes  lay  a  mind  he  wished  dearly  to  know. 
Let  her  tell  him  of  all  the  things  she  had  ever  done ;  of 
the  places  where  she  had  lived  and  grown  ;  of  her  thoughts 
and  her  tastes,  and  the  books  she  had  read ;  of  everything 
great  or  small,  that  had  brought  her  out  of  yesterday  into 
to-day.  Gazing  at  her.  he  did  not  guess  how  little  others 
found  her  extravagantly  fair.  The  mystery  of  her  beauty 
was  for  him :  his  to  question  or  to  read.  Who,  his  heart 
kept  asking,  is  this  sibyl  with  the  dryad  eyes  that  laugh 
and  are  grave  again,  and  the  voice  born  of  the  dancing  of 
some  mountain  brook?  Callirrhoe  she  might  be  named, 
Callirrhoe,  who  had  nine  sweet  museful  voices  of  her 
own :  Harriet  Jane  was  the  name  she  bore.  He  had  a 
friendship  for  the  name,  but  could  not  think  it  beautiful 
or  fitting  for  her.  Marcia's  "  Harry  "  made  a  better 
sound :  it  had  the  right  liquid  note,  and  the  ring. 


LADY    PETWYN'S    EXPERIMENT    489 

He  came  back  to  the  flowing  charm  of  her  voice. 

They  talked  fast  together;  Marcia  was  an  easy  link, 
and  a  cover  to  their  quick  intimacy.  "  Why,  we  are  not 
strangers  a  bit !  "  cried  Tristram,  as  they  exchanged  anec- 
dotes, and  learned  how  often  they  had  stood  on  common 
ground ;  Portruddock  and  Hill  Alwyn  held  place  in  their 
hearts.  He  wondered  why  they  had  never  met,  to  reiter- 
ate that  in  spite  of  it  they  were  not  strangers. 

*'  It  would  be  difficult,"  said  she,  "  to  be  that.  I  know 
too  many  things  of  you  —  have  known  ever  so  long." 

"  Has  Marcia  talked  so  much?"  asked  Tristram. 

"  Not  Marcia :  it  was  Aunt  Harriet ;  she  has  always  told 
me  about  you.  When  she  abused  you  I  used  to  laugh.  I 
knew  you  must  be  great  friends." 

"  And  to  me  she  has  never  once  mentioned  you !  "  cried 
Tristram.  "  I  doubt  whether  to  call  her  a  friend  again. 
No !  I'll  expect  now  to  hear  that  her  abuse  of  me  has  left 
off." 

"  Perhaps  since  yesterday,"  said  the  girl,  "  not  longer. 
I  judge  from  the  noise  she  made  she  had  not  left  off  lov- 
ing you  then." 

They  laughed,  with  a  common  understanding  of  the  old 
dame's  heart. 

'  You  ?  does  she  abuse  you  ?  "  asked  Tristram,  hoping 
to  discover  that  she  had  a  share  in  those  fierce  favours. 
'  We  are  great  friends,"  said  Harriet  Jane. 
'  That  is  answer  enough,  I  see,"  said  he.     "  You  call 
her  aunt?  " 

"  She  is  not :  we  are  no  relations ;  but  she  is  everything 
I  have."  She  added,  "  I  am  telling  you  nothing  sad,  not 
sad  to  me,  I  mean,  for  I  only  remember  her.  She  and  my 
father  were  great  friends.  Has  she  never  spoken  to  you 
of  him5" 

"  Ferring?  "  queried  Tristram,  beginning  to  recall  the 
name.    It  grew  familiar  to  his  ear.    "  Then  I  have  heard 


490  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

of  you !  "  he  said :  "  the  little  baby  that  was  named  after 
her;  and  your  father  died  the  same  year  that  you  were 
born.    Oh,  wonderful !  was  it  you  ?  " 

Why  it  was  wonderful  he  did  not  know :  he  chose  to 
think  that  it  was.  Everything  about  her  was  that.  To 
Lady  Petwyn  also  his  heart  went  out  with  a  new  tender- 
ness:  did  so  fair  a  result  prove  her  goodness  of  heart? 

The  girl  spoke  of  home.  "  Where  is  that  ?  "  asked 
Tristram. 

'  It  is  Hill  Alwyn  now.  I  mean  Portruddock,  that 
used  to  be  my  home.    Sentimentally  it  is  still." 

"  Yet  you  were  away  when  I  came." 

She  said  "  Yes,"  and  returned  to  the  ploughboy  epi- 
sode that  had  already  been  named  and  laughed  over. 
"  You  do  not  look  like  a  ploughboy  now,"  she  told  him. 

He  sighed,  wishing  much  that  he  did.  "  How  can  one 
in  London  ?  "  he  complained. 

"  You  should  come  out  of  it !  " 

"  Ah!  You  think  so!  "  he  said,  as  though  her  lightest 
word  were  wisdom.  "  You  do  not  like  London  ?  Could 
you  live  here  ?    No !  " 

But  she  had  not  such  reasons  as  he  to  hunger  for  es- 
cape: no  shadows  of  the  prison-house  had  crossed  her 
life. 

'  Like  London?"  she  said,  "  I  think  I  do?  I  seldom 
dislike  being  where  I  am.  Live  in  it  ?  Not  unless  one  had 
to.  Country  is  where  I  run  ;  and  the  sight  of  hills  makes 
home  for  me.  I  am  only  in  London  for  a  month.  I  think 
I  look  forward  to  it." 

Could  he  do  as  much  ?  Back  thoughts  came  to  trouble 
him ;  he  threw  them  off,  living  for  the  moment  that  gave 
him  a  semblance  of  happiness  once  more.  For  the  rest  of 
the  evening,  while  guests  came  and  went,  the  two  new 
friends  talked  on,  and  noticed  little  the  gradually  empty- 
ing rooms.     They  had   found  a  corner  for  themselves 


LADY    PETWYN'S    EXPERIMENT    491 

away  from  the  general  gaze ;  there  at  last  Lady  Petwyn 
came  on  them. 

"  Harriet  Jane,"  she  cried,  "  off  with  you  to  your  bed ! 
You  should  have  been  asleep  an  hour  ago.  Young  man, 
as  the  last  of  my  guests,  if  you  require  a  bed  say  so. 
Otherwise  it  is  time  you  left !  " 

In  spite  of  her  words  her  hand  on  his  arm  detained  him. 
Harriet  Jane  and  he  exchanged  adieux  under  the  lady's 
eye. 

"  Then  we  write  and  tell  Marcia?  "  said  she. 

"  Marcia  shall  be  pleased  at  what  /  say,"  he  replied. 

Laughing  they  loosed  hands.  Lady  Petwyn  accepted  a 
caress ;  the  beautiful  vision  fled. 

Tristram  still  had  his  eyes  on  the  door  through  which 
she  had  passed,  when  Lady  Petwyn's  voice  brought  him 
back  to  earth. 

"  Well,  and  are  you  not  tired  of  your  Necropolis  yet  ?  " 
she  asked  him. 

"  And  if  I  were,  what  good?  "  he  queried  back. 

She  shrugged,  and  said,  "  There's  all  the  wickedness  of 
Cob's  Hole  waiting  to  exchange,  when  you  like.  You 
flout  me :  I'm  a  fool :  I'm  a  faithful  soul :  I  don't  go  back 
on  my  word." 

"  Believe  that  I'm  grateful "  said  Tristram,  and 

would  have  said  more. 

"  Gabble,  Gabble !  "  cut  in  the  lady.  "  If  you  are,  show 
it !  "  She  would  hear  no  more  from  him,  making  haste 
to  say :  "  What  about  my  Harriet  Jane  ?  Do  you  like 
her?" 

Tristram's  "I  do !  "  should  have  given  her  what  she 
wanted. 

She  looked  at  him  to  know  more,  saying,  "  Much  ? 
Little  ?  Enough  ?  "  She  would  not  release  him  till  he  had 
answered. 

He  warmed  under  her  scrutiny,  troubled  by  sudden 


492  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

thoughts.  '  Perhaps  too  much!  "  he  said  in  a  tone  that 
satisfied  her. 

Harriet  Jane  Petwyn  opened  his  eyes  to  her  meaning 

'  Kiss  me !  "  she  said.  A  little  triumph  rang  in  her 
voice. 

He  pressed  his  lips  to  the  hard,  withered  cheek,  saying 
no  word.  It  was  their  first  embrace  —  their  last.  "  Good- 
night," was  all  he  said. 

Simply  and  fatally  she  had  revealed  to  him  where  he 
stood ;  in  her  wish  he  saw  his  own.  There  was  some- 
thing then  more  sacred  to  him  than  his  word.  '  The 
glutton's  God  is  his  belly,  the  proud  man's  his  word !  " 
was  a  gibe  of  Lady  Petwyn 's  that  recurred  to  him  now. 

If  he  were  a  proud  man,  that  night  he  cast  off  his  God. 
London  was  empty  of  him  the  next  day. 


CHAPTER    XLIII 

ANTAEUS    DROPS    TO    EARTH 

HP  HE  indication  of  Tristram's  flight  came  into  Marcia's 
■*■  hands.  It  was  brief:  his  letter  named  freedom  as 
the  goal  toward  which  he  had  disappeared.  Let  all  who 
cared  for  him,  he  wrote,  be  glad  that  he  had  found  sense 
at  last  to  know  what  he  could  and  what  he  could  not  be ; 
cowardly  he  had  been,  merely  from  the  fear  of  giving 
pain.  What  he  did  now,  spared  them  a  later  blow.  If  he 
came  back,  she  should  find  him  a  different  man,  and  his 
own  master;  let  that  much  be  known.  Those  were  cruel 
words  to  pass  on  to  one  gentle  heart.  His  mother's  face 
became  grey  at  hearing  them ;  she  bowed  submissively  as 
to  a  fresh  stroke  of  age. 

Marcia's  own  belief  was  too  indefinable  to  be  put  into 
words ;  almost  unreasonable  to  herself  was  the  trust  she 
held  fast.  She  sat  for  hours  with  her  mother's  hands  in 
hers,  seeking  to  extend  comfort,  and  could  find  no  speech 
for  it.  "I  have  lost  my  boy,  I  have  lost  him !  "  cried  the 
poor  lady  again  and  again. 

Suspense  lay  over  the  house  while  Mr.  Gavney  went 
up  to  town  to  gather  what  information  was  to  be  had. 
A  calendar  month  of  absence  from  the  places  that  should 
have  known  him  raised  to  conviction  the  lurid  suspicions 
he  had  formed  of  his  son's  doings.  Enquiry  as  to  Tris- 
tram's hours  added  evidence  that  common-sense  could  not 
refuse.    Much  that  he  gathered  was  true  enough.    Where 

493 


494  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

no  record  could  be  traced  apprehension  made  missing  ends 
meet.  He  went  home  with  a  clear  understanding  of  the 
case.  The  young  man  had  not  merely  dabbled,  as  young 
men  will;  over  bead  and  ears  he  had  plunged;  his  flight 
had  been  but  the  finishing  scandal,  covering  he  knew  not 
what  of  monstrous  and  horrible.  For  many  weeks  after 
he  ran  an  anxious  eye  over  the  columns  of  his  newspaper. 

His  meeting  with  his  wife  when  he  returned,  assured  of 
the  main  fact,  was  pathetic.  Coming  to  her  couch  he 
lifted  deprecating  hands.  "Ask  me  nothing!"  he  said, 
as  he  kissed  her,  and  drew  a  wailing  woman  to  his  breast. 
"  You  tell  me  I  have  lost  my  boy?  "  echoed  again  the  cry 
that  had  worn  her  daughter's  nerves. 

Marcia  kept  to  herself  a  better  hope,  and  the  words 
that  gave  it,  secret  from  other  eyes.  Breaking  a  larger 
promise,  Tristram  had  not  forgotten  to  fulfil  a  small 
one.  "  I  have  seen  your  Harry,"  he  wrote.  "  Do  I  like 
her?  you  wish  to  know.  Marcia,  my  answer  is  this:  I 
like  her  as  I  like  perhaps  two  other  women  in  all  the 
world ;  if  I  see  her  again  it  will  be  love.  That  is  my  wish : 
pray  it  may  come  true !  I  am  for  the  air-cure  now. 
You  cannot  long  to  see  me  again  as  I  to  see  you,  with 
all  it  means." 

That  longing  had  to  last  for  many  months.  Short 
record  is  best,  till  time  brings  the  thing  that  is  desired  so 
much ;  though  in  the  fulfilment  of  the  desire  one  may  not 
be  able  to  find  joy. 

Bembridge,  in  the  following  July,  was  gathering  the 
wandering  tribes  of  England  to  the  celebration  of  St. 
Swithin's  fair.  Yellow  caravans  roHed  along  the  quiet 
country  roads ;  and  on  Randogger's  Edge  Welsh  ponies 
were  camped  to  get  into  condition  for  the  day  of  sale. 

Gipsies  are  as  a  rule  their  own  doctors ;  but  one  night 
a  man  rode  in  to  Bembridge  on  an  errand  that  brought 
Doctor  Tomlin  back  with  him. 


ANTAEUS  DROPS  TO  EARTH   495 

The  doctor  was  led  to  a  tent  pitched  by  a  stream-side, 
with  the  reach  of  great  boughs  overhead  between  it  and 
the  stars.  Under  its  shelter  a  thin  body  lay  stretched, 
making  a  feeble  motion  of  hands,  as  though  forbidding 
any  stranger  to  approach. 

A  light  was  brought ;  by  its  flicker  and  glare,  amid  odd 
shadows  cast  along  the  flapping  sides  of  the  tent,  the 
Bembridge  doctor  saw  and  could  recognise  Tristram  Gav- 
ney's  face. 


CHAPTER    XLIV 

THE   TENDER    MERCIES   OF   THE    RIGHTEOUS 

O  OFT  light  slanting  as  through  a  depth  of  green  waters 
fell  over  the  bed  on  which  Tristram  lay.  He  was 
hack  in  his  old  room.  There  sleep  had  visited  him  best, 
there  waking  had  given  him  most  joy  ;  it  was  the  very  nest 
of  home.  Recognising  it  faintly  his  faculties  absorbed 
peace :  the  repose  of  childhood  seemed  to  wait  upon  him 
there.  Not  troubling  to  count  the  days,  he  yet  watched, 
as  the  hours  drew  over  him,  the  familiar  slopes  of  shadow 
cast  by  the  morning  and  evening  light  across  those  walls ; 
and  remembered  what  childish  fancies  had  attached  to 
each  moving  form.  Across  the  ceiling  at  certain  hours 
walked  the  shadows  of  folk  traversing  the  court  below : 
headlong  figures  flinging  dim  diagonal  limbs  from  corner 
to  corner  as  they  passed.  These,  coming  and  going  fit- 
fully, were  restful  company  to  his  brain ;  entertained  by 
them  he  did  not  have  to  think. 

His  bed  was  drawn  close  to  the  window ;  a  mere  turn 
of  the  head  allowed  him  to  lay  his  face  on  the  sill,  and 
catch  a  glimpse  of  garden  and  field,  and  the  ridge  of 
wooded  slopes  beyond. 

Outside  lay  heat,  and  over  everything  the  dry,  strained 
look  of  a  continuing  drought. 

The  pallid  air,  robbed  of  its  moisture,  was  filmed 
through  as  with  impalpable  dust ;  light  seemed  like  a  file 
rasping  the  ether  as  it  came ;  overhead  the  heavens  were 

496 


MERCIES    OF    THE    RIGHTEOUS      497 

as  brass,  and  every  day  seemed  to  put  off  further  from 
the  weary  earth  the  faint  prospect  of  rain.  Better  than 
such  outlook,  till  the  covering  hours  of  night,  were  the 
cool  shadows  of  Tristram's  own  room ;  there  he  lay  and 
had  not  to  move  or  think.  It  was  sufficient  to  feel  him- 
self at  home. 

Since  it  had  received  him,  two  faces  had  been  by  his 
pillow  to  add  a  welcome  to  the  comforts  of  which  he  was 
but  dimly  conscious.  His  mother's  visit  had  been  brief ; 
even  that  seemed  to  strain  the  strength  of  a  body  more 
frail  than  he  had  known  it  before.  Her  whispered  joy 
at  seeing  him,  if  indeed  it  could  be  called  joy,  had  been 
answered  more  in  signs  than  speech  ;  after  first  words 
five  minutes  of  clasped  hands  had  been  the  extent  of  their 
communing. 

Miss  Julia  Gavney  was  a  more  frequent  visitor.  She 
came  to  see  that  the  nurse  omitted  no  duty  and  to  fulfil 
her  own ;  in  her  practical  way  she  meant  to  be  kind.  She 
devised  cooling  drinks  for  him,  and,  unasked,  brought 
flowers  to  his  bedside :  things  small  enough,  but  unlike 
the  aunt  with  whom  he  had  exchanged  exasperation  in 
the  old  days. 

One  day,  wild  flowers  showed  her  remembrance  of  his 
taste  for  "  weeds,"  and  a  patience  towards  it  at  last.  It 
caused  him  to  say  almost  with  apology  at  their  next  meet- 
ing, "  You  are  very  kind,  Aunt  Julie !  " 

"  Things  are  so  dried  up  in  the  garden,"  she  answered, 
to  put  a  mere  matter-of-fact  reason  on  the  gratification 
she  had  given  him  ;  but  seized  the  occasion  to  say,  "  Are 
you  dull?  shall  I  sit  with  you?"  And  though,  from  a 
dislike  to  be  waited  on,  he  always  when  possible  dismissed 
his  nurse,  his  faculty  for  wishing  was  too  faint  to  oppose 
what  was  kindly  meant :  he  let  her  come. 

She  secured  the  habit  of  sitting  with  him  for  an  hour 
or  two  each  day.     "Shall  I  read?"  came  next  to  be  a 

2  K 


498  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

natural  query  on  the  days  that  followed.  "  Yes,"  he 
would  say,  or  "  no."  She  was  patient  to  his  least  wish; 
and  he,  trying  to  find  hers.  Curious,  if  to  a  mind  that 
had  become  altogether  incurious  it  could  be  called  that, 
seemed  this  attendance  on  him  of  one  with  whom  he  was 
so  little  in  sympathy.  He  wondered  why,  on  the  use- 
less remnant  of  him,  so  much  trouble  should  be  ex- 
pended. 

One  day,  in  answer  to  the  usual  question,  he  said, 
"  Yes,  do  read !  "  and  named  his  book.  She  hesitated, 
and  ended  by  stating  gently  the  direct  scruple  she  had  in 
her  mind. 

"  It  is  Sunday !  "  she  said. 

That  wras  news  to  him.  The  objection  was  met  by  his 
saying,  "  Read  what  you  like,  then."  He  knew  now 
what  she  wished  her  reading  to  be.  Very  well,  let  it  be 
that! 

Miss  Julia  Gavney  worshipped  the  church-calendar. 
Mere  formality,  and  not  intent,  caused  her  to  open  upon  a 
sentence  startlingly  to  the  point. 

'*  My  son,  hast  thou  sinned?  "  were  the  first  words  she 
read  ;  "do  so  no  more,  but  ask  pardon  for  thy  former 
sins." 

Tristram  heard,  and  no  resentment  rose  in  his  heart, 
though  he  believed  the  passage  deliberately  chosen  for  his 
benefit.  He  let  her  read  on ;  and  of  sin  itself  was  told : 
'  If  thou  come  too  near  it,  it  will  bite  thee;  the  teeth 
thereof  are  as  the  teeth  of  a  lion  slaying  the  souls  of 
men." 

Yes,  that  was  true ;  this  also  that  followed :  "  The  inner 
parts  of  a  fool  are  like  a  broken  vessel."  There,  plainly 
enough,  he  saw  himself. 

At  the  end  of  the  chapter  his  aunt's  eye  dwelt  on  his 
face  ;  compunction  caused  her  then  to  excuse  her  selection. 
"  It  is  to-day's  special  lesson,"  she  explained. 


MERCIES    OF    THE    RIGHTEOUS      499 

"  Extra-special !  ':  murmured  Tristram,  with  a  faint 
smile.    The  cry  of  the  London  streets  was  in  his  ears. 

After  that  Julia  Gavney  was  allowed  to  have  her  way ; 
daily  she  read  to  him  as  he  drowsed  languidly  through 
the  hours.  Life  meant  little  enough  to  Tristram  now; 
the  useless  thread  of  it  still  running  through  him  helped 
him  to  realise  more  and  more  man's  impotence  to  grasp 
the  forces  on  which  he  sets  his  feet.  The  connection 
between  the  two  seemed  scarcely  more  than  exists  between 
a  swallow  and  the  telegraph-wire  on  which  it  alights. 
Just  as  the  bird  rests  and  is  supported,  but  with  its  claws 
cannot  grasp  or  stay  the  current  that  speeds  below,  so 
conscious  life  rests  ignorantly  on  a  flow  of  forces,  whose 
whence  or  whither  it  knows  not.  Let  us  own  ourselves 
ignorant  if  we  would  begin  to  be  wise,  became  for  Tris- 
tram the  ultimate  advice  to  be  accepted  by  the  human  race. 
With  such  a  philosophy  it  was  easy  for  him  to  sink  what 
remained  of  his  pride  and  let  his  aunt  do  as  she  would  in 
satisfaction  of  her  own  sense  of  obligation  towards  him ; 
it  could  matter  so  little  now. 

He  had  lain  for  over  a  week  passively  receiving  the 
impressions  of  his  surroundings,  before  it  occurred  to 
him  to  make  enquiry  after  what  was  missing. 

"Where  is  Marcia?"  he  asked  then. 

Constraint  was  in  Miss  Julia  Gavney's  reply.  "  Marcia 
is  away,"  said  she. 

On  Tristram's  further  enquiry,  "  Does  she  know  I  am 
here  ? "  an  evasive  answer  followed  a  moment  of  cogitat- 
ing silence. 

He  understood  and  acquiesced. 

The  humility  of  his  silent  acceptance  of  that  news  did 
not  reach  a  mind  so  lacking  in  intuition  as  Miss  Gavney's. 
Indifference  was  all  she  discerned  in  his  mild  reception  of 
the  decree  which  kept  Marcia  from  her  home.  Could  she 
have  looked  below  the  surface  she  would  have  discovered 


5oo  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

strange  turmoil.  Tristram's  brain  had  now  something 
definitely  like  famine  to  set  it  working  again,  robbing  it 
of  repose. 

"  Marcia !  I  am  not  to  see  her!  "  was  the  blank-eyed 
thought  that  stared  at  him.  The  realisation  of  that  roused 
the  old  passionate  emotions  which  had  always  been  prone 
to  spring  with  a  consciousness  of  absence  from  those  he 
loved.  In  his  feeble  body  great  wants  began  to  grow 
which  had  lain  quiescent  under  the  burden  of  his  sick- 
ness. His  heart  started  on  a  passionate  retrospect ;  with 
a  desperate  repair  of  their  forces,  all  against  his  will,  his 
senses  became  keen-edged  once  more.  They  wandered 
down  separate  vistas  of  his  memory,  each  on  its  own 
track,  joining  at  moments  of  delight  among  the  perished 
days  of  his  childhood  and  youth.  Memories  of  sight  and 
hearing  and  scent  drew  him  back  into  the  world  which  he 
was  never  again  to  see ;  and  the  things  farthest  off  were 
now  as  much  a  possession  to  him,  a  mere  spectator  hence- 
forth, as  those  that  belonged  but  to  yesterday.  More; 
for  did  they  not  contain  more  joy,  were  they  not  more 
vivid  than  anything  that  could  touch  him  now  ?  That 
was  the  one  test  of  life;  since  no  future  remained,  only 
the  past  could  be  real  for  him  now. 

He  remembered  a  fall,  and  the  sound  of  waters  in  his 
ears,  and  the  clear  sunny  bed  of  a  shallow  brook  in 
which  he  had  lain  contentedly  bubbling  out  his  breath  ; 
of  water,  from  that  day  he  never  remembered  to  have 
had  a  fear.  Water!  The  thought  called  him  back  from 
the  past.  Outside  lay  a  parched  earth,  fainting  in  the 
hot  drought. 

He  remembered  the  voice  of  his  Aunt  Doris,  singing 
to  him  in  the  woods:  he,  and  she,  and  Marcia,  huddled 
together  under  a  cloak  over  which  came  the  pelt  of  rain. 
That  was  in  great  Randogger.  Never  again  was  Ran- 
dogger  to  spread  its  boughs  between  him  and  the  sky. 


MERCIES    OF    THE    RIGHTEOUS      501 

He  remembered  Marcia  saying  that  she  was  taller  than 
he ;  and  how,  for  the  test,  they  had  stood  back  to  back, 
with  elders  looking  on  to  see  that  they  stood  fair ;  and 
how  at  the  level  touching  of  their  heads  he  had  clapped 
his  hands  crying,  "Then  we  are  twins!"  Marcia  had 
been  cross  with  him  then.  His  twin !  Marcia  also  he 
was  to  see  no  more. 

He  remembered  a  summer  night  when  he  had  dived, 
and  seen  lightning  come  down  and  visit  the  hollow  bed 
of  the  pond,  mapping  it  out  like  a  world  washed  by  air; 
and  thence  had  risen  to  hear  the  roar  of  the  storm.  Never 
was  he  to  dive  into  those  deep  waters  again. 

He  remembered  at  night  the  trampling  of  a  horse  on 
a  distant  hill;  and  how  he  had  been  drawn  by  the  sound 
to  a  free  run  over  the  shadowy  earth ;  and  to  a  climb  up 
from  the  valley  to  catch  over  the  dark  hollows  below  the 
first  gleam  of  dawn.  Xo  horse,  nor  foot,  nor  hill,  nor 
valley  was  ever  to  feel  the  weight  of  him  again. 

He  remembered  a  hillside  where  a  tree  stood  apart  in 
a  broad  field,  how  water  had  sprung  tawny  from  the  clay, 
and  flowed  wide  around  the  tree's  roots ;  how  the  tree  had 
given  place  to  a  well,  whose  waters  were  a  cool  drink 
whatever  heat  lay  above.  Was  he  never  again  to  taste 
that  well,  that  water  which  he  had  once  proudly  named 
his  own  ? 

He  remembered  the  scent  of  flowers  brought  out  by 
rain  ;  and  the  smell  that  rose  with  it  from  the  drenched 
and  thankful  soil.  Rain !  was  he  never  to  hear  it  again 
sounding  from  heaven  to  earth  ? 

He  remembered  the  scent  of  white  flowers  coming  to 
him  as  he  entered  a  dark  room :  flowers  which  had  been 
soiled  and  whose  freshness  no  washing  could  restore. 

Consciousness  brought  him  back  to  his  own  surround- 
ings ;  clove  pinks  were  standing  in  a  jar  at  his  bed-side. 

That  dav  when  his  aunt  came  to  dole  out  to  him  the 


502  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

portion  of  scripture  reading  upon  which  her  heart  was 
set,  he  surprised  her  by  saying,  "  There  is  something  I 
want  you  to  read;  may  I  choose?" 

She  assented,  hopeful  of  having  at  last  touched  his 
spirit  with  her  ministrations ;  but  when  the  actual  passage 
he  had  asked  for  lay  under  her  eye  she  was  puzzled,  so 
little  reference  did  it  seem  to  have  to  spiritual  things. 
Tristram  had  petitioned  for  the  chapter  wherein  the  names 
and  deeds  of  David's  mighty  men  stand  recorded.  Much 
was  mere  catalogue,  a  boastful  stringing  of  the  names  of 
heroes.  He  let  her  read  on,  giving  no  nearer  indication 
of  the  thing  he  was  in  quest  of.  It  came  at  last,  and 
struck  a  desolate  thrill  to  his  heart.  Water !  was  its  cry ; 
a  passion  three  thousand  years  old  became  the  prayer 
of  to-day ! 

"  And  David  longed  and  said,  Oh,  that  one  would 
give  me  drink  of  the  water  of  the  well  of  Bethlehem,  that 
is  at  the  gate."  He  heard  his  own  soul  crying  in  those 
words.  He,  too,  had  a  well  of  water  lying  free  under  the 
eye  of  heaven ;  many  days  of  the  waste  of  life  left  to  him 
he  would  give  to  have  drink  of  it  now ;  and  yet  he  would 
not  ask. 

Miss  Gavney  finished  the  chapter  rigorously;  through 
all  the  string  of  long  names  which  form  its  concluding 
portion,  she  read,  and  reading,  came  to  believe  that  she 
was  mocked.  Tristram  lay  with  closed  eyes,  listening  no 
more.  '  Thank  you,"  he  said,  when  at  last  she  had  done. 
She  laid  the  book  down,  and  without  another  word  left 
the  room. 

For  a  few  days  afterwards  he  wondered  mildly  why 
her  readings  to  him  were  not  renewed  ;  but  presently  he 
let  thought  of  it  go.  She  still  came  and  sat  with  him,  and 
renewed  the  flowers  on  the  table  at  his  side ;  but.  did  not 
again  submit  herself  to  the  chance  of  having  her  ministra- 
tions reduced  to  a  cataloguing  of  dead  Hebrews.     Thus 


MERCIES    OF    THE    RIGHTEOUS      503 

characteristically  did  these  two  come  to  yet  another  mis- 
understanding, mattering  little  enough  in  itself,  which 
time  was  never  to  put  right. 

A  few  days  later,  Tristram  opening  his  eyes  at  dusk, 
after  a  drowsy  lapse  from  consciousness,  saw  beside  his 
bed  a  figure  bowed  forward  in  the  attitude  of  prayer. 

The  face  was  hidden  in  the  coverlet,  across  his  feet  he 
felt  the  faint  pressure  of  hands.  "Aunt  Julie!"  he 
thought,  and  grew  troubled,  wondering  whether  affection 
that  he  had  coldly  rejected  crouched  there  praying  for 
one  who  would  not  pray  for  himself. 

He  eyed  her  pitifully,  till  doubt  arose.  It  became  cer- 
tainty, clutching  him  by  the  throat.  He  broke  silence, 
crying,  "  Marcia !  " 


CHAPTER  XLV 

THE    HOUSE    OF    MY    FRIENDS 

tJER  face  was  like  well-water  to  his  thirsty  soul.     Its 
draught  of  love  lay   waiting   for  his   lips.     "  My 
Trampy !  "  was  the  low,  eager  cry  with  which  she  sprang 
and  leaned  to  take  and  be  taken  to  his  embrace. 

By  no  gesture,  but  by  the  deadly  quiet  of  his  utterance. 
he  held  her  back  from  him.  "  You  must  not  kiss  me  now, 
Marcia,"  he  whispered.  "  Dear,  dearest,  oh,  why  have 
you  come  ?  " 

'  Trampy,"  she  moaned,  "  could  I  stay  away,  with  von 
here?  Oh,  my  dear,  my  dear!  they  were  cruel;  it  had 
been  kept  from  me.  You  and  I,  to  be  parted !  —  Who  in 
all  the  world  had  such  a  right  ?  " 

She  had  his  hands,  with  humble  lips  showing  him  her 
love.  'You  will  not  ask  me  to  leave  you  now?"  she 
asked,  and  cried,  "no,  no!  "  laying  her  face  back  on  the 
thin  palms. 

He  begged  her  to  turn  the  blinds  to  let  in  the  dusk  of 
the  outer  world.  "Look  at  me,"  he  said;  —  "your  face 
this  way !  T  want  all  the  light  there  is  to  see  you."  He 
added,  "  T  had  three  prayers  which  I  thought  useless  to 
pray ;  one  of  them  was  to  see  you." 

"  And  the  others  ?  "  she  begged  him  to  tell. 

"  No.    You  are  the  best  of  them,"  he  said. 

'  T  would  wish  them  to  be  better  than  me  if  they  can 

<;o4 


THE    HOUSE    OF    MY    FRIENDS      505 

be  had,"  cried  this  new  Marcia.  "  Dearest,  what  are  your 
prayers?  " 

"  One  —  you  shall  tell  me  of  that  presently.  The  other 
—  water  from  my  well !    Will  you  get  me  that  ?  " 

"  Oh,  my  Trampy,"  she  cried  in  deep  sorrowfulness  of 
tone.     "  Don't  ask  me  another  thing  I  can't  do !     Your 

well,  dear "       She  stopped;  his  eyes  searched  her 

face. 

There  he  read  grief,  and  wondered  what  truth  was 
about  to  pour  its  poison  into  his  ear. 

"  Is  dry,"  she  whispered ;  "  I  was  told  to-day  —  quite 
dry !  " 

He  tasted  the  drought  of  his  mother-earth. 

There  was  silence  between  them  for  a  while.  "  And 
your  other  prayer?  will  you  tell  me  that?  "  Marcia  at  last 
found  voice  to  say. 

It  seemed  an  unsubstantial  one  now,  and  best  left  un- 
spoken :  merely  to  hear  a  voice !  "  One  prayer  in  three  is 
as  much  as  I  deserve,"  said  he,  and  so  let  the  third  lie 
secret. 

Gradual  silence  fell  over  this  first  meeting  of  brother 
and  sister,  while  feebleness  laid  its  weight  on  him  once 
more.  When  darkness  drew  him  away  to  sleep.  Marcia 
sat  by  him  still,  wondering  at  the  thin  flow  of  life  which 
pricked  in  his  pulse. 

She  learned,  in  the  days  following,  to  submit  her  love 
to  the  hardest  thing  of  all  —  absence  from  his  side.  They 
met  but  for  short  moments ;  he  wished  apparently  for  no 
more  —  giving  her  errands  that  filled  many  hours  of  her 
time ;  service  to  him  that  made  it  just  bearable  to  be  away. 
To  Hiddenden  and  Beacon  Farm,  and  to  the  small  green 
court  at  the  back  of  Bembridge  High  Street,  and  else- 
where in  the  bowered  ways  round  Randogger  she  took 
and  brought  back  messages ;  she,  the  jealous  one,  carrying 
faithfully  and  eagerly  little  messages  of  love,  rendering 


506  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

back  to  him  the  uncouth  eloquence  of  simple  hearts.  He 
was  to  be  quick  and  get  stout  again,  was  Duffin's  word. 
Many  echoed  it;  and  sent  him,  with  good  wishes,  gifts 
home-grown  and  home-made,  heavy  enough  sometimes 
even  for  Marcia,  when  she  volunteered  to  save  hard-work- 
ing poor  folk  the  long  charitable  tramp  they  proposed. 

One  day  she  came  with  word  of  Lady  Petwyn  back  at 
Hill  Alwyn,  wrestling  with  sharp  incredulous  speech  over 
the  news  that  had  reached  her.  "  What's  he  doing  it 
for?"  was  the  harsh  complaint  of  a  tongue  that  had  no 
soft  ways  of  indicating  distress.  And,  "Fiddlesticks!" 
quoth  she  to  Marcia's  matter-of-fact  statement  that  the 
doctor's  comings  were  twice  a  day ;  "  Tomlin's  a  very 
weasel  for  his  fees!  An  ache  costs  me  more  under  him 
than  to  be  turned  inside-out  up  in  town.  Cut  down  his 
calls,  and  you'll  have  your  prodigal  sitting  up  and  eating 
fatted  calf  before  the  week's  out !  Oh,  yes,  take  him  my 
best  respects;  say  I'll  come  over  and  rout  him  if  he  per- 
sists." A  mere  saying ;  she  never  put  herself  to  the  ordeal, 
dreading  too  much  to  have  to  believe  the  sight  of  her  eyes. 
Marcia,  for  an  obstinately  offending  countenance,  under- 
went a  fierce  fly-out  of  the  old  dame's  abuse.  Long  faces 
might  go  to  the  hangman  for  her ;  she  could  not  tolerate 
them.  Her  own  face  strained  ;  she  gesticulated,  laughing 
angrily  now  and  then.  "  Tell  him,"  said  she  for  a 
wind-up,  "  that  Harriet  Jane  arrives  next  week ;  that'll 
brisk  him !  " 

That  last  item  of  intelligence  Marcia  did  convey  to  Tris- 
tram ;  comforted  for  herself  also,  that  her  own  great  friend 
was  soon  to  be  at  hand.  The  prospect  brought  a  definite 
request  to  his  lips.  "  When  she  comes,  Marcia,  take  her 
into  the  garden,  and  —  make  her  laugh." 

She  looked  at  him  to  wonder,  and  became  wise  when 
he  answered,  "  My  third  prayer  will  be  granted  then." 

But  the  event  proved  that  he  had  spoken  rightly  of  the 


THE    HOUSE    OF    MY    FRIENDS      507 

event;  his  portion  was  to  be  one  out  of  three;  just 
what  he  deserved,  his  fate  allowed. 

Lady  Petwyn  unwittingly  interposed  between  him  and 
the  fulfilment  of  that  other  wish.  After  the  interview 
with  Marcia,  she  summoned  Doctor  Tomlin  imperiously 
to  a  breach  of  professional  etiquette.  Having  reduced 
him  to  submission,  she  rated  him  to  the  doorstep ;  till, 
beholding  the  kind  fellow  actually  moved  to  an  unmanly 
display  of  feeling  as  he  mounted  his  gig,  and  realising 
that  her  own  harsh  words  were  not  the  immediate  cause, 
she  retired  abruptly  to  her  own  solitude,  and  may  be 
pardoned  by  tender  hearts  for  her  brief  and  emphatic 
damning  of  Life's  play  as  she  beheld  it  then,  under  the 
shivering  verge  of  the  last  dark  curtain's  descent.  Any 
comings  to  Hill  Alwyn  were  countermanded  after  that. 
Harriet  Jane  remained  at  her  Welsh  home. 

How  far  Tristram  was  from  the  feast  of  the  fatted  calf 
may  be  known  by  this :  he,  the  sociable  lover  of  his 
fellows,  prayed  now  constantly  to  be  left  alone ;  now  till 
disembodiment  came,  he  could  welcome  no  longer  the 
touch  of  hands,  the  meeting  of  eyes ;  friends,  lovers,  and 
kinsfolk,  he  wished  them  all  to  stand  afar  off,  not  at 
gaze. 

Marcia  set  an  obedience  that  was  followed,  so  far  as 
was  possible,  by  all  who  moved  round  the  sick  chamber. 
Tristram  was  given  his  wish,  such  freedom  as  could  be 
his  still ;  he  was  let  alone.  Many  hours  at  his  door,  the 
faithful  love  of  his  sister  kept  watch,  refusing  to  break 
the  seal  of  the  privacy  which  he  had  chosen  as  the  last 
refuge  of  sick  body  and  sick  mind.  A  heart  as  gentle 
and  as  loving  did  as  a  duty  what  Marcia  for  a  like  reason 
left  undone. 

One  afternoon  Tristram  became  conscious  by  a  faint 
movement  of  drapery  at  his  ear  that  his  peace  had  been 
invaded.    He  turned  his  face  and  found  his  mother  sitting 


508  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

listless  and  quiet  beside  the  bed.  She  had  the  appearance 
of  long  waiting,  till  the  effort  of  watching  and  expecting 
had  become  too  much  for  her ;  her  eyes  drooped,  weary 
over  that  vigil  of  attendance  for  recognition.  Now  it 
came,  she  was  no  longer  on  the  look-out. 

He  moved  his  hand  towards  her  and  spoke;  his  voice 
had  fallen  to  a  whisper  of  its  old  strength.  "  Why, 
mother!"  he  said,  "is  this  right?"  She  seemed  more 
worn  than  he  imagined  himself  to  be ;  it  was  pity  to  him 
to  think  of  her  in  such  weakness  coming  to  him,  dragged 
from  the  tender  ruin  of  her  own  days  to  this,  the  more 
tragic  scene  into  which  his  own  had  fallen.  He  pushed 
his  hand  in  a  slow  crawl  across  the  coverlet,  inviting  the 
clasp  that  came;  she  lifted  it  between  thin  palms,  and 
drew  it  to  her  lap. 

For  him  she  was  the  greater  invalid  still ;  he  was  full 
of  solicitude,  faintly  importuning  her  to  speak.  Did  she 
sleep  well  now,  without  pain  ? 

"  Yes,  my  dear,"  she  answered  in  the  soft  grieving  tones 
which  suffering  had  given  her.  "  I  get  good  nights  now 
and  then ;  except  when  I  have  to  be  thinking  of  you." 

Her  hand  invited  a  response  from  his.  Tristram  lay 
and  felt  the  pressure,  and  without  answer  let  it  relax 
again,  nor  knew  how  to  convey  to  the  dear  mind  contri- 
tion that  any  hour  of  her  night's  rest  should  be  given  up 
to  him.  These  were  helpless  loves,  his  and  hers ;  they 
could  give  and  take  no  comfort  from  each  other  now ;  to 
give  pain  was  the  one  power  left  to  them.  Bitter  sadness 
for  her  filled  his  heart ;  but  it  held,  he  knew,  no  balm  to 
satisfy  her  prayer  for  him ;  his  own  prayer  was  merely  to 
die;  could  he  tell  her  that? 

So  he  lay,  fearing  to  move  eye  or  hand,  lest  he  should 
provoke  a  touch  too  personal  in  a  case  where  all  the 
tenderness  in  the  world  could  bring  no  healing.  "  And 
she  loves  me !  "  was  the  wonder  that  recurred ;  and  the 


THE    HOUSE    OF    MY    FRIENDS      509 

convicting  thought  that  she  loved  not  him,  but  a  stranger 
whom  he  did  not  know,  came  to  drive  its  bitter  iron  into 
his  soul. 

"  She  does  not  love  me,"  he  thought,  "  why  should 
she?"  and  could  no  longer  thrill  to  the  touch  of  her 
frail  fingers.  What  memories,  he  wondered,  had  she  of 
him,  which  made  her  tender  to  him  now,  or  what  for 
which  her  love  rebuked  him  ?  Were  they  those  for  which 
he  rebuked  himself,  and  was  one  of  them  submission  and 
obedience  to  her  blind  word?  Himself,  not  her,  he 
charged  with  the  wrong  of  that ! 

Oh,  woman  thy  son :  oh,  son  thy  mother !  What 
strangers  now  are  two  between  whom  never  a  harsh  word 
has  been !  what  failures  can  be  Love's ! 

Her  composure  melted  under  his  withering  silence.  She 
sat  weeping  silently  over  the  hand  she  held.  Conscious 
that  some  of  her  tears  had  fallen  on  him,  unguessing  the 
dire  anguish  they  caused,  she  wondered  that  no  sign  came 
in  answer  to  her  grief.  He  must  have  a  hard  heart,  she 
thought,  to  let  her  weep  on  uncomforted ;  yet  even  to  have 
sight  of  such  coldness  she  turned  his  way,  hoping  yet  that 
the  spectacle  of  her  sorrow  might  make  him  hers. 

The  unearthly  quiet  of  his  gaze  struck  her  with  a  kind 
of  dread ;  was  he  disembodied  that  he  could  lie  there 
watching  the  tears  that  flowed  for  love  of  him,  and  make 
no  answer  at  all  ? 

Soul  and  body  were  indeed  already  in  dissolution ; 
the  one  no  longer  expressed  what  the  other  felt.  Out- 
wardly this  calm ;  within  the  ever-repeated  cry,  "  Oh, 
mother,  and  you  love  me !  "  beating  against  the  feeble 
brain  till  he  almost  fainted,  to  be  soul  to  the  soul  that 
could  not  read  him. 

Thus  soundless  griefs  lay  between  them,  and  gulfs  they 
could  not  plumb.  Only  the  mother  recognised  the  weak- 
ness of  the  body  before  her,  and  on  that  built  up  excuse 


510  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

for  him.  She  imagined  it  must  have  sunk  him  too  low 
for  the  experience  of  emotion,  that  it  was  a  dying  flame 
without  warmth  in  it,  whose  expiring  struggle  she 
watched.  Scarcely  did  he  seem  the  child  whom  the  birth- 
pangs  had  first  made  dear  to  her,  and  whom  disgrace 
heaped  on  disappointment  and  trouble  had  not  estranged 
from  her  affections.  Now,  instead,  she  trusted  she  might 
find  a  human  soul  waiting  for  a  mother's  word  to  help  it : 
and,  as  she  faced  the  task,  her  terror  was  lest  the  gentle 
creed  of  her  life  should  be  short  of  stark  truth,  presuming 
too  human  a  hope  under  the  deeper  shadows  of  God's 
will.  Terrible  to  her  mild  eyes  was  the  statement  of  life 
here  summed  up  for  them  to  gaze  on.  Praying  for  speech, 
she  dreaded  lest  at  last  she  should  fail.  She  prayed ;  yet, 
when  she  spoke,  it  was  more  intimate  and  earthly  teaching 
which  guided  the  limited  insight  of  her  words. 

"  When  I  lie  awake  thinking  of  you."  The  long  silence 
was  broken  at  last  in  the  repetition  of  that  thought. 

Her  tired  face  as  she  spoke,  nerving  herself  for  what 
she  must  say,  gave  to  Tristram's  sensitive  vision  a  retro- 
spect of  solitary  watchings  and  prayer  that  had  taxed  her 
beyond  her  strength.  He  submitted  himself  then  without 
a  sign  to  the  operation  of  that  loving-kindness  which  he 
saw  was  to  fall  on  him. 

She  spoke  of  what  was  in  her  heart ;  of  her  own  sorrow 
and  fear ;  of  his  record,  leading  by  self-will  and  rebellion 
and  sin  to  this  that  lay  now  before  their  eyes ;  nor  dared 
she  any  longer  spare  herself  from  the  utterance  of  words 
she  believed  true.  "Do  not  think  me  hard,"  she  murmured 
once.  Had  there  been  tears  in  him,  he  must  have  shed 
them  then. 

She  spoke  of  the  father  whom  his  conduct  had 
estranged.  "  Do  not  think,"  she  said,  "  that  he  does  not 
suffer  and  feel  a  father's  love  because  he  has  not  been  to 
you  here.    A  word  of  sorrow  from  you  would  bring  him, 


THE    HOUSE    OF    MY    FRIENDS      511 

my  dear."  She  paused  and  said  again  —  "A  word  from 
you." 

Tristram  was  silent.  The  kindest  voice  in  all  the 
world  went  on,  and  delivered  up  to  the  end  the  message 
it  had  for  his  ear. 

"  You  have  been  headstrong,"  she  said ;  "  the  young 
often  are.  But  you  with  your  wild  ways  and  your  self- 
will  made  so-bad  a  name  for  yourself  here  that  we  had  to 
let  you  go  away.  There  are  things  I  do  not  know ;  but  I 
do  know  that  Mr.  Hannam  most  truly  forgives  you  the 
wrong  you  did,  the  deception  of  his  son,  letting  him  cover 
your  sin.  Because  of  you  he  has  no  son  now  to  comfort 
him ;  yet  he  comes,  and  you  will  not  see  him.  There,  also, 
my  dear,  your  pride  —  a  word  from  you." 

Tristram's  hand  expressed  acceptance  of  her  wish. 

His  mother  said,  "  You  cannot  undo  what  is  done ;  all 
the  more,  what  you  can  do,  do !  You  have  not  always 
banished  deceit  from  your  actions,  my  dear.  You  may  do 
that  now."  She  referred  again  to  the  causes  which  sent 
him  from  home.  "  In  London,"  she  said,  "  you  were  given 
the  means  to  a  fresh  start ;  yet  you  did  not  seem  even 
glad  of  the  opportunity.  And  what  did  you  do  with  it  in 
the  end?  Dear  boy,  let  your  own  conscience  answer;  I 
am  not  asking  you  to  tell  me  anything  now.  That  chance 
which  your  father's  kindness  gave  you,  costing  him  so 
much  at  a  time  when  he  could  ill  afford  it,  that  chance 
also  you  threw  away !  You  are  young  still,  yet  have  much 
to  look  back  upon  that  should  make  you  grieve.  How 
many  fair  hopes  you  have  wrecked,  and  why  ?  Think,  as 
you  lie  here !  " 

Fondling  his  hand,  she  spoke  her  last  word.  "  My  boy, 
my  Tristram,  you  are  home  again,  and  your  mother's 
heart  has  not  changed,  whatever  may  have  become  of 
yours.  When  you  lie  awake,  and  cannot  sleep  —  you  do 
sometimes,  do  you  not  ?  —  remember  that  I,  too,  may  be 


512  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

keeping  awake  with  you,  praying  God,  if  He  will,  not  to 
hasten  the  time,  but  to  have  pity  upon  my  boy." 

It  was  ended  at  last,  the  voice  of  sad  age  to  sad  youth ; 
and  ignorance,  made  so  little  wise  by  love,  had  uttered 
its  dear,  pitiable,  fond  say. 

Tristram,  without  looking  at  her,  thought  when  all  was 
done,  "  Does  she  know  what  an  old  man  she  has  been 
talking  to?"  Well,  this  old  man  had  been  her  child  once 
upon  a  time. 

It  was  ended.  He  could  not  look  at  her  face ;  the 
thought  of  her  gentle  inexperienced  age  coming  to  give 
counsel  to  him  after  his  own  devouring  speed  through  the 
lessons  of  life,  touched  him  with  its  infinite  futility.  The 
good  grey  spirit  of  her  face,  that  soft  domestic  presence 
contemporary  to  a  thousand  vibrating  memories,  made  an 
exquisite  demand  for  grace  at  his  hands  at  this  last  time 
of  their  meeting. 

His  love  grew  in  a  fantasy  of  tenderness.  The  way  she 
had  worn  silk  and  sat  to  receive  company  ;  the  withered 
flower-like  face,  the  throat  wrinkled  and  thin  before  the 
true  middle-age  had  come ;  her  voice  through  an  open 
window  on  warm  clays  which  were  still  too  cold  for  her ; 
her  gradual  disappearance  from  her  place  at  the  family 
meals ;  each  short-coming  which  had  fallen  to  her  portion 
of  the  bliss  of  life;  all  these  things  accumulated  now  to 
lay  pitying  constraint  upon  him,  bidding  him  extend  to  her 
such  comfort  as  truthfully  he  could. 

When  she  had  done  a  trembling  seized  her;  she  looked 
at  him  with  frightened  cast-down  eyes,  her  whole  spirit  a 
feather  for  the  breath  of  any  rebuff;  the  weakest  lips 
could  have  delivered  it  had  they  willed. 

Tristram  uttered  no  word.  He  lay  still,  stroking  her 
hand  down  with  his  own,  softly  and  slowly,  many  times 
over;  only  weakness  at  last  caused  him  to  forbear. 

Then  she  was  gone;  and  the  white  drought  of  the  outer 


THE    HOUSE    OF    MY    FRIENDS      513 

world  and  the  fiery  languor  of  the  long  afternoon  were 
his  infinite  companions  once  more. 

His  longing  for  all  the  cooling  springs  earth  held  buried 
for  the  seasons  to  come,  or  heaven  might  one  day  send 
and  restore,  grew  slack  in  a  body  too  feeble  to  look  for 
anything  that  was  still  so  undiscoverably  far.  He  wished 
instead  that  he  might  live  long  enough  to  see  the  dawn 
once  more  come  trembling  over  the  east,  folding  in  its  rays 
the  high  lonely  tree  he  had  climbed  when  a  boy  to  find  the 
crow's  nest  wherein  a  wind-hover  had  made  its  home. 


2L 


CHAPTER    XLVI 

IN    WHICH    THE    READER    WILL    DRAW    HIS 
CONCLUSIONS 

V\70RD  went  out  one  evening  late  in  August,  that 
Tristram  Gavney  lay  dead.  The  news  was  carried 
in  the  rough  country  dialect  from  Little  Alwyn,  over  the 
Beacon  way  as  far  as  Hiddenden  ;  in  other  directions 
it  touched  remote  places,  not  named  in  this  record, 
which  the  Tramp  had  visited  in  his  wild  rounds,  claiming 
the  hospitality  of  open  doors.  It  was  strange  how  many 
knew  him,  had  spoken  with  him,  perhaps  but  once,  and 
remembered  him  —  none  unkindly.  Lady  Petwyn,  when 
the  rumour  became  confirmed,  had  the  blinds  of  Hill 
Alwyn  down,  and  went  growling  up  to  town  to  abuse  her 
doctor  for  the  ills  he  had  failed  to  cure  in  her.  She  had 
taught  him  to  deal  frankly  with  her ;  temper  he  told  her 
was  her  worst  disease.  She  owned  it,  and  the  reason, 
shaking  a  haggard  face  at  him.  "  All  my  life,"  she  said, 
"my  affections  have  run  iron  into  me;  either  into  my 
hair,  or  my  heart,  or  my  legs.  I'm  a  lame  dog,  doctor 
(wrong  sex,  but  it  doesn't  matter)  :  get  me  over  the  stile 
quick,  and  have  done  with  me !  " 

He  told  her  his  belief  that  she  had  another  good  ten 
years  of  life  in  her. 

"What?  can't  you  send  mc  to  some  waters  where  I 
can  get  poisoned  off  quicker  than  that?"  she  asked  him, 
"  you  aren't  half  a  doctor!  " 

5*4 


CONCLUSIONS  515 

She  went  off  huffing,  full  of  complaints  and  grey  loneli- 
ness, but  not  in  the  least  either  wishing  or  intending  to 
depart  this  life  with  the  speed  her  words  indicated.  Hill 
Alwyn  saw  her  not  again  till  the  next  spring.  Tristram's 
grave  was  then  already  green ;  homely  in  its  surroundings, 
so  wearing  a  likeness  to  his  memory  in  simple  minds 
which  had  seen  but  the  kindly  surface  of  his  youth. 

Mr.  Gavney,  fulfilling  the  last  duty  of  a  father,  had 
walked  as  chief  mourner  to  his  son's  dishonoured  remains. 
Surprised,  he  noted  how  many  attended  at  so  simple  a 
ceremony ;  it  was  gratifying  as  a  tribute  to  the  high  re- 
spect which  the  name  of  Gavney  had  attained  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood. That  Lady  Petwyn's  unoccupied  carriage 
should  follow  his  own,  was  a  condescension  of  sympathy 
which  helped  him  greatly  in  the  ordeal  he  had  to  undergo. 

Somewhat  troubling  to  his  mind  was  the  presence  of 
Marcia,  whose  insistence  in  the  matter  had  seemed  to  him 
un feminine,  hardly  in  keeping  with  the  social  usages  of 
the  day.  He  had  told  her  it  was  unnecessary.  Her 
answer  had  been,  "  I  must."  So  she  was  there,  moving 
in  a  world  of  thoughts  which  revealed  nothing  of  their 
nature  in  her  face.  A  single  sentence  uttered  after  the 
ceremony,  told  him  much  of  her  fortunate  ignorance  con- 
cerning her  brother's  true  character.  He  spoke  on  the 
way  home  of  the  mother,  so  broken  in  her  grief,  and  con- 
fessed his  anxious  haste  to  get  back  to  her.  Thinking  of 
her,  he  could  not  spare  to  indicate  the  trial  and  disappoint- 
ment of  such  a  sen  to  so  tender  a  heart.  "  Youth  is  so 
selfish,"  he  lamented,  covering  the  individual  in  the  type. 

Marcia  said,  "  All  that  I  ever  learned  of  unselfishness 
was  from  him.     No  one  knew  him  as  I  did !  " 

To  Mr.  Gavney  the  remark  sounded  uncomfortably 
inappropriate.  Wishing  to  be  tender  to  her  he  said,  "  You 
saw  a  better  side  of  him  than  he  showed  to  others." 

She  answered  passionately,  "  I  did !  yet  I  never  loved 


516  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

him  enough !"  and  was  silent  thereafter,  having  eased  her- 
self of  a  duty  which  she  conceived  she  owed  to  Tristram's 
memory ;  her  outspokenness  secured  silence  in  her  hear- 
ing from  lips  which  could  speak  no  truth  of  one  she  held 
in  honour. 

What  did  speak  surely  were  the  two  letters  under  one 
cover  which  the  irony  of  fate  had  brought  over-sea  only 
that  morning.  It  was  by  Tristram's  wish  that  Marcia  laid 
claim  to  missives  which  came  addressed  to  him,  thinking 
with  sisterly  content  how  out  there  one  dear  memory  was 
safe.  They  bore  a  far-away  post-mark,  not  to  be  called 
foreign  by  one  whose  blood  belonged  to  the  great  modern 
mother  of  nations.  In  them  she  read  of  a  man  she  loved, 
happy  with  another  woman,  pledged  to  a  life  that  suited 
his  faculties.  Both  letters  named  her,  both  blessed  Tris- 
tram. Lizzie's  she  laid  to  her  face,  and  could  shed  on  it 
the  tears  which  had  not  fallen  by  her  brother's  open  grave. 

Only  an  extract  from  it  may  be  given  here,  where  every- 
thing is  so  near  an  end.  "  Just  a  line,"  wrote  Lizzie,  "  to 
say  with  my  own  hand  that  we  are  happy  and  doing  well, 
and  my  one  trouble  quite  over.  You  will  understand  I 
am  happy  if  I  can  write  that!  The  new  baby  belongs  to 
you  and  is  to  have  your  name ;  he  is  yours  any  time  you 
like  to  come  for  him ;  or  must  we  bring  him  to  you  ? 
Little  Raymond  has  your  portrait  over  his  bed ;  he  sits  up 
and  kisses  it,  and  calls  it  his  beautiful  man  ;  and  says  he 
remembers  you,  though  it's  not  truly  possible.  He  grows 
too  fast  for  anything,  and  knows  more  than  I  have  time 
to  teach  him.  I  tell  him  I  write  to  you,  and  he  sends  a  kiss 
inside  this  mark  to  his  '  beautiful  man.' 

'  My  other  Raymond  looks  well,  and  so  much  the  squire 
for  all  the  rough  life  and  the  ways  out  here.  The  people 
round  call  him  that,  and  he's  pleased ;  for  he  always  does 
like  to  lead,  as  you  know. 

'  What  he  tells  you  is  true :  you  would  be  welcome  as 


CONCLUSIONS  517 

day  to  come  and  be  with  us,  as  your  letter  last  year  said 
perhaps  you  might.  I'm  glad  this  one's  to  be  called  Tris- 
tram, else  I  should  be  afraid  of  Raymond  being  the  only 
favourite.  Thank  Marcia  for  remembering  me,  with  my 
love ;  whenever  I  make  things  for  my  two  babies  I  think 
of  her.  Whatever  I  do,  1  believe  I  have  you  somewhere 
back  in  my  thoughts,  and  so  shall  always,  dear  friend." 

This  simple  message  of  remembering  hearts  told  one 
thing  surely,  making  it  very  precious  to  Marcia  as  she 
read.    There,  where  Tristram  was  loved,  he  still  lived. 

It  was  his  certificate ;  a  piece  of  his  life  snatched  from 
waste.  She  carried  it  all  day  at  her  heart,  and  at  night 
spread  it  before  her  mother's  eyes  to  see  how  much  of 
its  inner  meaning  they  would  discover.  Mrs.  Gavney  read 
it  and  remained  uninstructed ;  sighing,  she  laid  it  by.  She 
took  her  daughter  fondly  in  her  arms  for  their  good-night 
embrace.  '  You,  dear,"  she  said,  "  are  left  to  me,"  and 
wept  self-pityingly.  With  a  sort  of  loyalty  to  some  good 
that  might  have  been  in  him,  she  refrained  from  speaking 
her  boy's  name ;  it  seemed  to  bring  back  his  faults  and  his 
father's  anger. 

To  Marcia,  passing  through  the  country-side  under  the 
droppings  of  autumn's  gold,  it  became  scarcely  possible 
to  think  of  Tristram  as  dead.  Wherever  she  moved  his 
feet  had  been  before  her ;  wherever  she  stopped  were 
people  who  had  known  him,  upon  whose  lives  his  hand 
had  lain  lightly  in  a  hundred  small  ways ;  it  was  as  his 
sister  that  they  greeted  her.  Through  that  common  bond 
she  came  to  have  a  better  and  a  far  kindlier  understanding 
of  her  fellow-men  ;  and  by  a  deeper  insight  into  the  losses 
and  recompenses  of  individual  lives  to  make  a  humbler 
claim  for  happiness  in  her  own.  It  was  a  teaching  which 
led  her  to  set  less  store  on  the  books  that  had  been  too 
much  her  world,  and  to  look  more  into  human  faces  for 
the  knowledge  she  must  turn  to  use. 


518  A    MODERN    ANTAEUS 

Apart  from  this  record,  I  set  two  passages  from  the 
poets,  expressive  of  what  those  who  loved  him  in  different 
ways  might  have  felt  was  the  true  thing  to  be  said  of 
Tristram  when  at  last  the  fever  of  his  days  was  ended. 
Marcia's  word,  one  might  be  called;  the  other  that  of  a 
very  gentle,  charitable  woman,  his  mother.  Like  epitaphs, 
one-sided  statements  of  truth,  let  them  stand.  They 
differ;  yet  each  of  them  in  its  way  defines  a  life  which  the 
world  has  to  regard  as  a  failure ;  and  in  one  or  other  of 
them  the  reader  may  find  a  moral  to  the  record  which  now 
closes. 


I. 


"  And  Youth,  /  most  bewail  thee, 

Thy  purpose  was  so  great ; 
But  t lie  foes  that  did  assail  thee 

Were  stronger  than  thy  fate, 
And  thy  heart  it  was  so  ruddy  red 

That  every  archer  knew 
Where  he  might  best  impale  thee 

And  drive  his  arrows  through." 


II. 


"  All  this,  and  more,  comes  from  some  young  man's  pride 
Of  power  to  see,  —  in  failure  and  mistake, 

Relinquishment,  disgrace,  on  every  side  — 
Merely  examples  for  his  sake, 

Helps  to  his  path  untried."1 


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